


Crowley's First Christmas

by skimmingthesurface, SylviaW1991



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale adores him regardless, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Crowley is a sap, First Kiss, Fluff, He hates being a sap, M/M, Mistletoe, them's the rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 39,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21881143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylviaW1991/pseuds/SylviaW1991
Summary: Christmas is just the sort of holiday a demon has no business enjoying, even if one particular demon is entirely responsible for just such a holiday. After Armageddon't, he finally has a chance to see what all the fuss is about and one particular angel is very eager to show him. It's been nearly two thousand years of missing him every December, after all, so there's much to do.There's mulled wine, Christmas markets, a tree to decorate, gifts to give, and secrets to share.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 59
Kudos: 146
Collections: Aziraphale's Library Festive Fic Recs





	1. The Decorations & The Ritz

Christmas, like so many others, had once been a pagan holiday. Crowley had enjoyed it as much as he had the rest, and Aziraphale had left the celebrations alone. Until orders had come down for the angel to influence someone to put a stop to these rituals, these celebrations of things who were not the one true God. 

He could remember Aziraphale wringing his hands as he told him, the way he couldn't quite meet his gaze, the apology he couldn't utter because he was a good angel, a good Heavenly soldier. So Crowley had made something up, some temptation he was scheduled to do in the same area. The Arrangement had been a century and a half away from being discussed, but Crowley had worn him down. Used that angelic guilt against him. 

_"Doesn't matter, angel. It's just a party and there'll always be more of those."_

He'd hurt himself before he let Aziraphale hurt him. He didn't need or want angelic guilt and if he specifically didn't want Aziraphale's, well, that was for him to know and the angel to probably never find out. 

But, in the way of his life, things never quite seemed to go to plan. At least, not _his_ plans. The bloody ineffable one was going to haunt him for eternity. 

Over the years, Christmas had developed into his biggest problem. He'd gone overboard with that temptation, that takeover, and it spilled into everything. Song after song, good will, films for adults and cartoons and claymation for children, lights and other decorations, the trees - he couldn't even _look_ at a pine tree and was doing everything he could to squash American idiots from making the palm tree just as much a Christmas symbol as the pines. No. He'd lost one plant - no, no! More! Mistletoe and holly and poinsettias... 

_Ugh_ , these humans. Stealing his plants, filling the air with so much kindness and decency that Hell usually spent the entire holiday season berating him. Was it his fault humanity chose a fake birthdate and turned it into something exceptional and special? Technically, yes, but Hell didn't know that! Heaven didn't either, so it was a massive win for Aziraphale. It was the one time of year where he was recognized for the wonderful things he did on a planet destined to be destroyed. 

All of that, though, Crowley could've dealt with. He dealt with it for years, spinning a few yarns here and there to make Krampus a thing and Elf on the Shelf had been his idea. He'd made Starbucks change their Christmas cups to holiday cups and had started a stir. So he'd had his fun. 

But he couldn't handle the angelic symbols that started to take hold, that only seemed to grow in popularity. Angel ornaments hung in every window and on every tree, angelic figures doing everything from figure skating to guarding over Santa Claus, angel window stickers, yard decorations - they were just _everywhere_. The worst of it was the wings. When they alone were everywhere he went. Every store, every street, every park - they drove him mad because there was only one set which mattered to him. One set which had shielded him during the first rains. One angel those wings were attached to who made him... _feel_ things, all the warm, soft things this holiday season inspired. It wasn't the love of _Jesus_ that was a problem for him, but the love of one another. 

He simply couldn't handle it, so he'd black out his windows, unplug everything, and sleep through December. Mid-January, he'd emerge from his bed and rage at his plants and pop into the bookshop. Mid-January, Christmas was safely tucked away and he didn't have to be bombarded by memories or feelings. 

But then they'd saved the world. 

They had their side as summer bled into fall and _things_ had started happening. Little, subtle things that felt like enormous, Earth-shattering things when Crowley was touch-starved and maybe Aziraphale was too, when their things had been so compartmentalized into their own spaces, but now Crowley had a bookshelf in his apartment as well as a plush loveseat that both matched his modernist aesthetic and went completely against it, and Aziraphale's bookshop had a bedroom and a single plant for Crowley to bully. And he did bully it. Not with unholy shouting, perhaps, but with mutters and threats that Aziraphale regarded with such exasperated _fondness_ that Crowley could hardly stand himself and the way the angel made him feel. Regardless, those pretty, colorful dahlias were going to bloom all bloody year or _else_. 

Even when fall drifted into winter and the carols started. The decorations started. The cheer and goodwill and everything that made Christmas time Christmas time bloody fucking started. Except there was a noticeable lack of Hell's annoyance with him and none of Heaven's regard for Aziraphale. It was just them and... 

And something was off. While the rest of the block was decorating, one certain bookshop on a corner stayed dim. Crowley didn't really notice until the first of December. 

They drove down the streets of Soho, the world lit up around them after dinner tucked together in Aziraphale's favorite sushi restaurant, fingers brushing, lingering as sake warmed their bellies. They'd sobered up before leaving, though Crowley still felt the angel's gentle touch. It was maddeningly around his heart, though. 

He ignored it as best he could, frowning across the street as he exited the Bentley and aimed his gaze at the corner. It looked out of place suddenly. A welcome distraction. "Don't you normally have lights and things all over by now?"

A more passive aggressive being might have replied with something like, "how would you know? You’re never around to see them." To be fair, while Aziraphale _could_ be passive aggressive and just a bit of a bastard about some things, on this night he was still far too satisfied from their meal and conversation, looking forward to a cozy evening tucked in the bookshop. He had plans to sit in his bergère chair with a nice cup of cocoa and Boris Pasternak’s _Doctor Zhivago_ or perhaps an Agatha Christie mystery, if he felt so inclined, with a soft throw draped across his lap and hopes that Crowley would spend the evening draping his body along the bookshop sofa. He wasn’t about to say anything that would risk creating ripples in the careful dance they were doing this December. At least, what the angel thought they were doing. Clearly this was part of it, a test.

"Mm, I suppose some years, I do," he hummed, like it hardly mattered, with the same flippancy he’d use when talking about upgrading his filing system in the bookshop. "Doesn’t take much to decorate, I’ll get to it eventually."

"Mm. Well..." Crowley folded his arms atop the Bentley, watching him over the top as he considered. "Want some help?"

Aziraphale looked at him as if he’d suggested going to a convalescent home to give alms to the sick or collecting donations at a nearby church to give to local homeless shelters for an idea of a fun night out. "I- er… what- what was that?" Because obviously he hadn’t heard him clearly.

Crowley swayed a bit, disjointed and uncomfortable with the reaction. He'd been pretty clear. "Well, I know it probably just takes a couple o'seconds for you, but I just thought..."

"Oh, well, no that’s not why I- of course I would appreciate any… but…" Aziraphale shook his head, and made a motion like he was pressing down on the air with his hands, collecting himself. "I thought you didn’t like decorating, my dear. That’s all. Came as a bit of a surprise."

He dropped his chin on his folded arms, frowning, gaze hidden behind dark lenses. "Just thought maybe it'd be... alright. With you. Y'know. Weren't s'posed to have all this an' all."

"You did?" The hope that surged through his voice could have illuminated the entire block, but filled only his expression, his eyes with the sensation. "I didn’t want to pressure you, you see, you always disappear this time of year and I thought obviously it was because you didn’t like any of it, so I thought maybe if I didn’t have any of it around _this_ year-" _Then you wouldn’t leave._ He stopped his rambling, hands and heart fluttering uselessly. "What a conversation to be having out in the cold though. Let’s go inside? Perhaps, if you’d like, we could start in there?"

 _Start_? But how could he refuse after that look? His eyes had been more like diamonds than a simple shade of blue. Crowley straightened, hands slipping into his pockets as he strolled around the Bentley. "You wouldn't be as cold if you'd at least wear gloves or- or mittens or something."

"We were only going to dinner, Crowley. If we planned for a walk or being outside for a predetermined amount of time, then I would have dressed accordingly." Aziraphale waited for him before heading over to the bookshop, unlocking it with a snap and held it open for him.

Warmth was already pleasantly emanating from within the cozy shop, the heat set to an ideal temperature. Aziraphale unbundled himself by the coat rack, scarf and coat carefully hung, then grabbed the soft gray wool coat he’d decided was his house coat. He’d been charmed by the idea of having a comfortable coat specifically for wearing indoors, and made his purchase before discovering that a traditional house coat wasn’t exactly a coat, per say. He kept it anyway, and referred to it as such nonetheless.

"Would you like anything to drink, my dear? Cocoa? Or some mulled wine, perhaps?"

"Mulled wine? How festive," he teased lightly, draping himself over the couch. There were no extra layers for him to remove, dressed far worse for the weather than Aziraphale. 

"It’s quite nice when it’s cold out," Aziraphale defended, but the fondness twinkling in his eyes showed he didn’t at all mind the teasing. How could he? Crowley was settling in on his sofa, had mentioned decorating all on his own, and was possibly willing to indulge in some of Aziraphale’s own holiday traditions. 

Though still wary of scaring him off - Crowley would do that sometimes, when things got to be too much, and while he’d always come back after a spat or an embarrassing talk, Aziraphale didn’t want to see that happen tonight - drinking was a comfortable pastime for them, a good place to start. 

He headed for his wine storage, seeking out a good red to pair with apples and spices. "I have an excellent recipe. I add a touch of brandy that I think you’d find enjoyable."

That was interesting. Crowley slipped off his glasses, folding them in the comfort of the bookshop. "You have a recipe?" 

"Yes. I’ve had it since the… oh, the fifteenth century? I’ve made some minor adjustments to it here and there over the years, but… ultimately has the same main components." 

Dark, rich flavors with a bit of crisp fruit and sweet spices to enhance it. When he’d first tried it, it seemed like something the demon would like. He’d meant to make some as a "thank you," for going above and beyond with Christmas, but then… well, it had been some centuries since he’d seen Crowley when it was socially acceptable to make the beverage. Aziraphale twisted the neck of a bottle in his hands, pretending to read the label, already knowing he’d like to use one of his mid-range Syrah blends. The Côte Rôtie from the early 2000s would do. He grabbed that and a bottle of brandy, showing them both to Crowley.

"I’ll get some warming up, then, if you’re not opposed to it?"

"Whatever you normally do, angel. I'm curious." He wasn't leaving, or at least didn't want to. No one was hounding him and he didn't feel _completely_ overwhelmed by all the decorations. Whatever it was that was happening between them was possibly allowed, for the first time ever. Leaving could jeopardize that. He wasn't stupid enough not to know that. 

"Be back in a tick, then. Make yourself at home!" he told him as he bustled upstairs to the kitchen in his flat to set the pot boiling.

He returned about ten minutes later, with two steaming mugs in hand. Just because he had a recipe didn’t mean he had to completely abide by the desired cook time. A little miracle or two to speed the process along never hurt. He handed Crowley the matte black mug that had somehow found a home in his cupboards over the past several months, a sliced orange and cinnamon stick bobbing at the surface. Aziraphale cupped his own angel wing mug with both hands as he settled in his chair, eyes eager for the demon’s assessment. While food and drink were definitely more of the angel’s preferred luxuries, they were always made better by certain company, and that company’s opinion on certain items always intrigued him.

The warmth of it matched the angel, seeping right into certain company's hands. A good swallow centered it, letting it spread through each of his gangly limbs and forcing out a satisfied little hiss. His grip changed on the mug, went possessive, and he settled it against his chest to cradle the warmth close. "You'll have to make more of this. S'it difficult?" 

Practically preening, Aziraphale took his own sip and shook his head. "Not at all. It's become quite the holiday staple." 

Right up there with cocoa, hot cider, eggnog, and those special holiday coffee beverages offered for a limited time only in those terrible cups. Honestly, ‘merry coffee,’ wasn’t even remotely grammatically correct, nor did it make any sense, but he purchased them regardless. There was something charming about gingerbread in a latte. 

Crowley wanted to ask why, but wasn't quite sure he wanted the full answer. Christmas had been around for centuries now and he couldn't recall a single one. So he asked, "So you'll make it again this month?" 

"Of course, my dear. As often as you’d like." Aziraphale took another sip, relishing the spice and warmth, then held it close to keep the heat centered around his chest and let the aroma waft up to him. "Now… would you-? You really won’t mind if I partake in a few Christmas traditions while in your company? And if there are any that you do mind, then you need only say so."

"Angel..." Crowley had to give him something, apparently, so he'd stop being weird. "This is the first bloody holiday season I'm not getting daily talking-tos from Hell. We'll do what you like, alright?" 

Aziraphale nodded, understanding sweeping over him in a wave. Of course, of _course_ it was Hell’s doing. How could Crowley have been expected to enjoy a holiday that’s sole purpose was to inspire goodwill and charity in all the hearts of humanity? They likely kept him swamped with temptations and bad deeds to even out the natural cheer of the season.

"Right, well. I suppose it is about time to decorate this place. Make it a little bit festive. Just a touch though, don’t want people to feel too cozy or comfortable here. Or like this is the kind of establishment that offers _deals_ this time of year." He shuddered in horror at the mere concept. "But a bit of garland in the window, wreaths on the door, candles- ah, electric, of course."

Crowley arched a brow, knowing what he was doing and struggling to hide any appreciation for it. He was so bloody _sweet_. It was as cavity inducing as too many candy canes. "Of course."

"Oh, and I should make some time to find a tree at some point…" he hummed, stirring his drink with his cinnamon stick. "Not for the bookshop, the pine needles get everywhere, but for upstairs."

"Why the hell do pine needles get everywhere?" 

Aziraphale blinked at him. "That wasn’t your doing? I thought for certain it was. Just a bit of demonic mischief for the season. Well, Christmas trees shed something awful. Even when the tree is well-watered and miracled into the shop, somehow I’m finding pine needles behind my desk and in the cushions. It can be a _nightmare_."

Crowley made a pained face. He'd never allow it. "I wouldn't encourage a plant to shed like some animal, not even as a blight on Christmas."

"Of course you wouldn’t," Aziraphale tutted, hiding his smile behind his mug. "Hm. I’d suggest putting it in your flat, seeing as you’re so good with plants, but I’d feel a little guilty subjecting the poor dear to your… methods."

"My methods get results. The dahlias up there aren't as colorful as they could be because you spoil them."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about. They’re _lovely_."

"See?" Crowley pointed his cinnamon stick at him. "You tell it that when I'm not here. I know you do, so it doesn't think it has to try as hard."

"Oh, I don’t see how a little reward now and then hurts any," Aziraphale reasoned, though they’d had this conversation before. "I try not to, Crowley, but you do such a wonderful job with your plants, it’s rather hard not to remark on their beauty. I should think they still respect you though."

"Mmhm. They'd better if they know what's good for 'em." He stirred his wine and took another drink, considering. "So... They're technically dead, then, aren't they, if they're losing all their needles? The Christmas pine trees."

Some of Aziraphale’s cheer dampened. "Oh… well, I suppose technically they are. They have to be cut down after all, to be brought into people’s homes. You water them of course, keep them hydrated so they don’t dry out and catch… well, you know. Then after the holiday is over, they’re put out on the street corners and taken away I expect. I try to replant mine with a miracle, back into the forest. Seems only right. Some years I manage to get away with it." 

This was why he bullied plants. They went and died otherwise. Foolishness. If he had one, he'd pot it straight off and demand it start to root. Crowley's shoulders rolled in a type of shrug. "Don't get sad about it, angel. It's a tree, not a child. What else do you like to do?" 

Aziraphale gave him a look, hardly impressed by his attempts at reassurances. "There is a bakery where I like to get my Christmas treats from. They make the most delectable gingerbread, and darling little mince pies. Not to mention their Yule log cakes." His smile returned as he sighed happily. "Then of course there's the miracles. Due to Heaven being so… lenient with me this time of year, they normally permit me to a few extra miracles, or at least they've been willing to overlook them." 

But this year would be the first where he didn't have to answer to Heaven, wouldn't have to wrestle with the despair of choosing between making sure families had enough to eat for the colder months or keeping the roads safe from weather-induced accidents. He could influence people to spread kindness and charity without concern that it was frivolous to help collect donations at the local churches or encourage people to volunteer at soup kitchens. Nothing was holding him back this year, not even Crowley, it seemed. Of course it was silly of him to think the demon would do anything but indulge him without Hell to answer to.

Crowley's thoughts ran a similar course. "You don't have to worry about restrictions anymore, do you? Maybe you can actually do more good now that they're not breathing down your neck." 

"Yes, that’s my hope, at any rate." He smiled down into his mug. "I’m sure there’s plenty of holiday-themed mischief you could get up to as well. If you felt so inclined."

"Eh. Bit of a waste of energy, you ask me. This holiday's been kicking around too long to do much and then you'd probably see the need to thwart me and, y'know, we're back to canceling each other out. Easier to let you have your fun."

"You could join me. Wouldn’t be so different from the Arrangement."

Crowley let his fingers flare with heat, warming his mug as the mulled wine started to cool. "The Arrangement involved you going somewhere so I didn't have to and vice versa. Going together is very different."

"Well, yes. When you put it like that, though I... I had started to take it as a way for us to spend time together." Aziraphale shrugged thoughtfully. "In a roundabout way, I suppose, but we did still have to meet up to compare notes. It would be similar in that respect. And in you possibly doing a few good deeds."

It had been an excuse to see each other, definitely. And always a disappointment when their orders didn't correspond since that meant no second meeting and waiting until the next round. Things had changed, though, hadn't they? They didn't need the excuses. 

But good deeds, really? "I'm still a demon, angel. The whole holiday is my doing. I'd think that should be enough." He took a sip from his wine, staring at the mug as he muttered, "M'not saying I won't go with you, though."

"Oh?" Aziraphale watched him avoid his gaze, perking up a bit while he wasn’t looking. "Well… thank you for clarifying."

"Oh, for- I already said we'd do what you like," he huffed, embarrassed and annoyed with himself because of it. "If you'd rather I go off like normal, I'll-"

"No!" Alarmed, Aziraphale set down his mug in preparation for potentially needing both of his hands to stop Crowley from leaving. "No, no. I apologize, my dear. It wasn’t my intention to imply that I’d prefer that in any way," he explained earnestly. "I only want to make sure that we do things that you enjoy, too. This will be your first Christmas out from under Hell’s thumb, as you said. I want it to be a wonderful experience for you."

Crowley recoiled a little, blinked twice. He hadn't expected a response quite like that, but... It wasn't exactly unwelcome. He shifted a bit, made himself relax, and took a steadying drink of wine. Then a second one. "I want," he started carefully, treading on very unfamiliar ground, "to be around you this time. You-" He needed another drink, but his cup was empty. It was sent a quick, accusatory glance when he had to clear his throat instead. "I don't mind whatever you want to do. I've never done _any_ of it and knowing you, you've picked off all the worst bits. Just- Y'know, stop making a _thing_ out of it. Just let me bloody trust you."

Aziraphale nodded, gaze flicking down to his mug, too. His corporation felt too warm, but in a giddy sort of way. Buzzing with the anticipation of continued nearness. It was new for both of them, all of this time together. Not unwelcome, but new all the same. Eventually he picked up his cup and gave it a swirl before swallowing the rest of the contents. He stood when it was empty and held his hand out for Crowley’s.

"Would you like some more?"

"Yeah." Crowley passed his mug over, watching their fingers brush. He was too flustered to let it be more than that, tension a tight ball between his shoulder blades. He'd normally just leave at even the thought of admitting any sort of feelings, but he was going to stay. He was determined this go around. 

Thankfully, for his sanity, the first few days of December involved watching Aziraphale putter about the tastefully decorated bookshop. Well, tasteful considering the rest of the clutter. And Crowley could admit to himself that he very quickly grew to like when all but Aziraphale's reading light went off and the soft glow of Christmas lights twinkled outside the windows. They were as much a lull to sleep as the bookshop's warmth and the soft crinkling of each turn of a page, so he'd woken up more than once to find a tartan blanket tucked around him on the sofa. 

But he did get fidgety when stuck in place for too long and he needed to check on his plants, make sure they weren't under the impression that could start browning just because snow had fallen. Then they had plans to find a Christmas tree for Aziraphale's flat. Crowley still had to figure out how to tell him he wanted to put it in a pot instead of just water without embarrassing himself. 

He looked up to his flat when he slammed out of the Bentley, hands dipping into his pockets. No decorations here and it perturbed him that he actually wondered what it would look like.

His attention slid back down when the passenger door shut. "Now don't come behind me after I look them over and give them _compliments_. Got it?" 

"I wouldn’t dare." Aziraphale clasped his hands behind his back as he strolled towards Crowley’s front door, looking over the building as well. 

A few tenants below Crowley had some clean white lights strung up in the windows, nothing too garish that would clash with the building’s more modern aesthetic. His gaze flicked up to Crowley’s floor and the window they could see. Some icicle lights wouldn’t look too out of place, perhaps he could convince the demon to put some up before the month was out.

"I really don't believe you. They always know when you're here." Residents needed a key card to get in; Crowley pushed the door open with a thought and held it. "If it starts being a problem..." He didn't actually know what he'd do. Probably nothing, which was terribly demeaning and he'd rather not think about it at all. 

Aziraphale placed a hand over his heart as he strode past him. "Darling, they’re your plants. At the end of the day, you decide how to care for them. Perhaps they sense my love for them. I’ll try my best to contain it, but I am an angel."

"Then wander somewhere that isn't near the plants. I'm sure there's a nearly empty room somewhere you can add to." Permission, in his snarky way, to do just that. 

Aziraphale still tsked at him, as if he found the request a bit ridiculous, but adhered to it all the same. He’d become increasingly more familiar with Crowley’s flat since the world nearly ended, the bookshop still very much their go to, but there had been a few evenings where they returned to Crowley’s after a nice dinner out. The lift up was already open and waiting for them, bypassing all other floors until they reached their destination.

Rather than remove his coat and mittens, Aziraphale stayed comfortably bundled as he wandered over to the bookshelf, the recent addition very much purposefully not near the plants. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Crowley sauntered about, fetching his plant mister on his way to snarl and threaten his little garden. When the demon glanced his way, he was quick to make it seem like he was perusing the selection of books he’d chosen to leave here, so not to be caught looking. Though it housed quite a few books at this point, Aziraphale did have to note that it looked a bit bare, much like the rest of the flat. Back at the bookshop, he knew he had a few decorations that would liven up the sparse shelves.

Well, Crowley did say that he could add to the nearly empty rooms. 

With a snap, a snowglobe was plucked from where it found a home on his desk at the shop and popped up right on the shelf second from the top. It had a silver base and depicted a white, sleigh ride scene. In his opinion it didn’t clash too terribly.

A white and red tartan throw also appeared draped on the back of the loveseat, picked from Aziraphale’s collection as the least offensive to Crowley’s tastes. Oh, and wouldn’t some sprigs of holly also look lovely over the television screen? And a nutcracker soldier, there on the desk. 

He didn’t have any icicle lights, preferring the warm and vibrant colors for his own space. Maybe he could convince Crowley to stop and pick some up while they were out for the tree. Already the space seemed much more festive, but not overly so. He still didn’t want to take advantage of the free rein the demon gave him.

It didn't feel like he had to Crowley. While he hadn't necessarily expected Christmas decorations - foolish, in retrospect - it wasn't overwhelming. There was respect for his space, his aesthetic, and it was so like Aziraphale to care enough for it. He still sauntered closer, dropping his mister onto the desk so he could gesture at the loveseat. He had to tease him for it. 

"Did you really bring tartan into my flat?" 

"It’s Christmas, Crowley. I couldn’t very well bring anything else." 

" _You_ couldn't." He dipped his hands into his pockets, pleased with him and the silly decorations. His plants hadn't proven to be disappointments either, so he was in a particularly good mood. It helped with, "Y'know, we could stay here a few nights. If you'd want to."

Aziraphale blinked up at him from fiddling with his mittens. "Oh, well, that’s… if you wouldn’t mind having me, then I… I see no reason not to."

His shoulders jerked a little. "If you're going to go through the trouble of decorating it, yeah. I'd just like you to actually feel comfortable here, like I do at the bookshop."

Taking in the recent additions with a new appreciation, Aziraphale’s lips curved up as he settled into the idea. "Yes, I think I’d like that, too," he admitted, gaze flicking to and away from him. "And, ah… there are a few more things I would like to pick up for the flat, while we’re out and about. Just a few."

"Actually buy some things? I don't think I've paid for a single thing in here. Well, the Mona Lisa sketch, but..."

"Oh, of course you haven’t, you foul fiend." Aziraphale rolled his eyes in exasperated fondness. "But yes, _buy_. I find it’s nice to actually own some things and do my part to support small businesses," he explained. "Besides, I’m not certain what type of icicle lights to get. There are so many to choose from these days, best to see what our options are first."

"Icicle lights."

"Yes, they’re very pretty. Very modern." Aziraphale clasped his hands together in front of him. "I think you’d like them."

Oh, no, he was going to let Aziraphale take him Christmas shopping. It was already out of his hands with those blue eyes fixed on him, cautiously eager and pleading. He'd never, not once, been able to say no. "We'll find out. I'm ready if you are."

"Quite." Aziraphale gave the flat one more look around, running through his mental catalogue of what else might add a bit of warmth to the space. "Will we bring the tree back here?" he asked on their way out the front door. "I would think that makes the most sense, if we’re spending time here, too. You certainly have more room for one than I do."

"You wanted to decorate it, didn't you? It'd be a laughingstock around my other plants."

"Oh, I doubt that. I’m sure it would make them _green_ with envy." Aziraphale grinned, giving a little wiggle, clearly pleased with himself.

Crowley scowled, dutifully ignoring the awful pun. "If we do bring it back, I'm putting it somewhere else and it'd better not drop one single pine needle on my floors."

"You can give it a stern talking to once we pick one out," the angel assured him. "We can put it in the room with the loveseat. That way we can both admire it, since I’m not allowed in with your plants now anyway."

Crowley sent him a sidelong look as they stepped into the lift. "Stop that. You're allowed _in_. Just don't spoil them with all your affection."

"I believe your exact words were that I wasn’t to ‘wander near the plants.’"

He made a few wordless noises of protest. "Only when I'm yelling at them."

"Ah." Aziraphale had to look away, his amusement growing too great to hide his smile. "I misunderstood, then. My apologies."

Eyes rolling behind his sunglasses, Crowley sauntered off the lift ahead of him. "Come on, angel. Do you have tree decorations to miracle over or do we need to get those too?" 

"Well, I’ve collected some over the years, but perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to pick out something a little newer. A few silver baubles might do the trick, maybe with some gold," he mused, following Crowley to the car and into the passenger seat. "Mine are a bit… mismatched, shall we say. Gifts I’ve received over the years, or tokens that I’ve picked up because I like the way they look. Not much of a cohesive style to them."

"That, shockingly, isn't a surprise." Crowley peeled off, heedless of the poor road conditions the snowfall had caused. Hands barely on the wheel, he looked over at the angel. "Hang on. Gifts?" 

"Yes, gifts- Crowley, watch the road!" Aziraphale braced himself against the seat as they cut off a car rounding the corner. He sent out a small miracle to keep the other driver’s tires from slipping on the slick surface with a huff, and glanced Crowley’s way when the demon appeared to be waiting on him to elaborate. "Gifts given out of gratitude mostly, depending on the work I was doing around this time of year. It’s the season of giving and humans are so fond of expressing themselves through little trinkets. I couldn’t very well turn them down. They were thoughtful."

That made sense then, but it did make Crowley wonder if he was supposed to give Aziraphale something for Christmas. _What_ was the mystery and he didn't want to think on it just yet. "You should miracle your favorites over. Even if they don't match, it's not just gonna be _my_ tree. It's for the both of us."

"An excellent idea. Not that I’d pick out something I didn’t like anyway, but a blending of styles seems like it could be the way to go- Crowley, _please_. That woman was trying to cross the street!"

The little Christmas tree pop-up they went to was family run, with several locations throughout London. Aziraphale had been picking up his Christmas trees from them since the late 1990s, when they first opened up and advertised that every tree purchased would result in a tree being planted in its place. With the threat of climate change on the rise, the angel was happy to support a business in favor of giving back to God’s green Earth.

It wasn’t too crowded, a few families picking out their trees and the occasional couple strolling hand-in-hand as they admired the Nordmann firs on display. Any distress that the car ride over might have caused vanished as Aziraphale felt the bubbles of love popping up from their fellow patrons. The scent of pine filled the air, refreshing in the city and full of nostalgia for the humans that breathed it in. Aziraphale beamed at Crowley as he came around the car, the pair falling into step together as they wandered the grounds.

"Hello! Happy Christmas," he called to the staff in charge of this location, a jolly wave accompanying his greeting, then murmured to Crowley. "I believe if one is working at a Christmas shop, then the good tidings for a ‘happy Christmas’ are appropriate. If it were anywhere else, I wouldn’t dare make that assumption. Happy holidays is perfectly reasonable in any other circumstances, I should think." 

Crowley couldn't quite keep all the indulgent fondness out of his smile, but he did his best. "So if I bother, I should just wish everyone a happy Christmas, then."

"Well, you _could_. I suppose it is the sentiment that counts even if not everyone celebrates-" Aziraphale cut himself off with an eye roll as he caught the snake-like smile on the demon's face. "Oh, you wily old serpent."

"You're the one who said I could get into some mischief," he pointed out, though doubted he'd bother. He wasn't sure if he could say it to someone, even ironically. "A bit of irritation here and there won't hurt. Hasn't done anything to you yet."

Aziraphale shook his head and patted him on the arm. "No, I suppose not. Come along, my dear, let’s find a tree suitable for your flat. Something full to fill the space, though perhaps not too tall..."

He had high ceilings, but didn't argue. He didn't plan to let the tree _grow_ per se. Just root so it wouldn't die or shed. His hands slipped into his pockets as they walked through the rows of trees. He skimmed them the same way he did the people bundled up and searching for the perfect pine. Sounds of laughter and a sense of easy camaraderie all around caused an odd bubble in his chest, some of it pride and most of it too sticky for him to feel safe enough to untangle. It felt like what heartburn probably felt like, but... good. None of this should've been possible and he'd been a part of stopping it, him and his angel. 

This was probably going to be a very dangerous season for him and his utter inability to share - or sometimes even _feel_ \- his feelings. He should've thought of that before he'd offered to help Aziraphale decorate. 

"Oh, Crowley! What about this one?" Aziraphale fawned over a seven foot spruce, delicately inspecting its branches before looking to the demon for his approval. 

Crowley cocked his head to the side just a bit, eyeing it for a moment. It still _looked_ healthy, which was probably the appeal of this type of tree over any others. Still, he had his own way of judging plants so reached out and grasped a branch. His fingers heated, just a little, just _enough_ to be a warning. The entire tree gave a little quiver and the needles didn't prick Crowley's hand, so he let go and nodded. "It'll listen."

Aziraphale sighed, but fondled a different branch and allowed a little bit of love to perk it up. "I think it's lovely. Certainly strong enough to hold ornaments and lights." He looked up at the top of it. "I have a star that will go quite nicely on top, I should think. It lights up!" Obviously a remarkable foray into modern decor.

"I'm starting to think that's a requirement for anything Christmas."

"I think it helps people feel happy and like going out even when it's so dark and gloomy out," Aziraphale rationalized, dusting off his mittens. "Now, I’ll call someone over so we can pay for it, then a quick miracle should get it home. Hm, we’ll also need one of those tree stands, to hold the water." Normally the tree stand would also help the tree to stand up, but since it was now the tree belonging to an angel and a demon, if they expected it to stand up on its own, it would.

"I've got something in mind, and if it drops one single needle before we get back, I'll _burn it_ ," he warned, pleased when the branches rustled uneasily, "and we'll just pick a different one."

"Don’t worry, dear. I don’t think he will," Aziraphale whispered to the tree, glancing over at Crowley with a small smirk. "Well, you did say this tree is for both of us."

"So are the dahlias, but you don't baby them twice as much as-" He broke off, eyes narrowing. "You _do_ , don't you?" 

Aziraphale smiled and said nothing as he left him there with the tree to find someone to assist them. It was a relatively painless process, and as soon as no one was looking, their tree found itself transported to Crowley’s flat in a blink, potted and surrounded by a box of ornaments from the bookshop, a string of lights, and a tartan tree skirt tucked around it. Not a single needle dropped so far.

"What do you say to some lunch before we look for some more decorations?" Aziraphale asked as they made their way back to the Bentley, snapping a little miracle into being for a family to suddenly be able to afford a nicer tree than they previously thought. They also wouldn’t have to worry about their bills this month. "My treat."

"Sounds fine," he agreed, deciding not to ask what the miracle was. He knew from the sudden shift in the air that he'd made life easier for someone somehow. "Where to, angel?" 

"Well, you know… I have always wanted to have Christmas afternoon tea at the Ritz," he hummed. "How does that sound, dearest?"

Considering that it was the Ritz, it was probably going to be over-decorated and just too much in general. But he had a secret little space in his heart for the Ritz, cozied right up to the one Aziraphale occupied. "Sounds like we've got a table waiting," he gave in, opening his door. 

Practically radiant with how much he was beaming, Aziraphale wiggled with delight before settling into the car. "Wonderful."

Though Aziraphale ate out on his own on numerous occasions in the past, he’d never been to the Ritz on his own. It just didn’t seem right, not after the suggestion he’d made in 1967. It was a place you went _with_ someone, a special someone or someone important to you. For Aziraphale that could only be one person - or being, rather - who fit the bill. Though he could’ve easily gone on his own for Christmas tea, a part of him had been waiting. The same part that tweaked a mulled wine recipe for centuries and picked out a star for his tree topper rather than an angel. Just in case Crowley came by for Christmas, he’d wanted things that they could enjoy together.

Emboldened by their time spent together and the success of the season so far, Aziraphale laid a mittened hand against his knee, sharing a smile with him when the demon looked his way. Touching had become more commonplace on their own side, but it was still such a new step for them. There was no rush, no impending doom ready to rain down upon them just yet, but he would take the little moments where he could get them, when he felt ready for them.

If what he shared with Crowley was wrong, well he figured he would’ve fallen long before now.

The Ritz looked every bit the Christmas dream Aziraphale had imagined. The Palm Court with its usual gold and cream accents popped with poinsettias and pine, bright reds and greens all along the archways. A tree far larger than the one they’d just picked was wrapped up in ribbon, like a present all on its own, and stood tall in the center of the room to be admired by all, no matter where they sat. Aziraphale sighed over the pinecone and cranberry centerpieces, the fragrant potpourri adding to the ambience.

The talented pianist performed renditions of Christmas classics, and a few that Aziraphale didn’t quite recognize. Normally he’d defer to Crowley for information on the modern bebops of the time, but Christmas songs seemed to be entirely out of the demon’s scope of musical knowledge. Which wasn’t a surprise, of course. Why would Hell permit Crowley to listen to something like Christmas music?

Which inspired another idea for something they could do together. "The Royal Albert Hall does Christmas concerts, you know. They’re very good. I’ve been several times myself, over the years," he mentioned as he sipped his champagne, savoring it as he would each delectable nibble set out on the tray between them.

Crowley’s fingers tapped over the stem of his champagne flute, the toe of his shoe nudged against Aziraphale's beneath the table. The decorations were as over the top as he'd been expecting, but it came off more lavish than obnoxious. And anything that included alcohol couldn't be all bad. "S'that a hint, angel?" 

"Well, I was considering going this year and wondered if you’d be interested in attending as well." He sampled a hazelnut macaron from their selection of sweets. "At some point this season. Whenever’s a good night for us."

Literally any. Crowley certainly didn't have a job to speak of anymore and Aziraphale would sooner leave his shop closed than open it. "Is it all the same show or do they do different things on different nights?" 

"Different things. Some nights it’s carols, others are more traditional concerts. We could see what’s on schedule and pick from there." His face lit up as he remembered something. "Oh, and the Birmingham Royal Ballet also does a performance of the Nutcracker there for several nights. Very sweet. And I think you’d like the battle against the Mouse King."

He was always most grateful for his sunglasses when Aziraphale was excited over things. His blue eyes got a twinkle that made all those uncomfortable feelings flip about, and he couldn't trust his eyes not to be windows sometimes. "We'll go, then." 

Aziraphale made a pleased sound - both as a result of their conversation and because of the morsel of delicious meringue and ganache melting on his tongue. He dabbed at his lips with his napkin, a light flush warming his cheeks as he felt Crowley’s eyes on him. Even if he couldn’t see them, he knew when he was looking.

"And if there’s anything at all that catches your interest, my dear, please let me know. There’s so much to do this time of year." He plucked a cherry scone from the tray, spreading clotted cream over one half of it.

"I will," he decided, shifting in his seat to prop an elbow on the back and his cheek against his fist as he continued to watch. Aziraphale was so enthusiastic about his food that it was hard not to. "Usually, I go somewhere it isn't widely celebrated." Before he'd given up and started sleeping the month away. It had been decades since he'd been awake, at least a century since he'd been anywhere near London in any part of December, and probably two since he'd sought anything Christmas-related out. "And even then, it's difficult not to see _something_ about the holiday. It bleeds into things."

"Where did you go?" Aziraphale asked, honestly intrigued. "Somewhere south of the equator, perhaps? Australia?"

"Been there a couple times, yeah. Away from the actual big cities, but the natives always had it hard enough without me bothering them. I usually end up in Asia somewhere or someplace small in Africa."

"Did you enjoy it there? I’m afraid it’s been some time since I’ve been to either continent, aside from the times I was sent there. Oh. Of course, right. You were there on orders, too, weren’t you?" Sympathy born from having been in the same position shone in his eyes, written in all the lines of his face. "I hope you were able to have some time to yourself."

"Well... _Technically_ , I was disobeying orders. They wanted me in Europe or the States all month to disrupt the holidays. I'd just go off wherever I felt like instead. As long as I was stirring up some trouble somewhere, I was ultimately fine." Or if he slept through a month and a half and falsified compliance reports, taking credit for things he'd had absolutely no hand in, well... That was Hell's problem, not his. 

"Ah, I see. How very like you." Aziraphale shook his head in fond exasperation, stirring some sugar into his tea. "Well, I must say I’m glad you felt like staying in London this year instead."

Crowley averted his gaze, plucking up his champagne for a swallow. "So'm I."

"Perhaps we can go to Africa or Asia next year." The suggestion spilled from him before he had time to consider what it was he was actually saying, and once he did, his cheeks went pink for an entirely different reason. "I, er…well, that is to say… like going on- on holiday. If I haven’t bored you to tears by then." He lifted his tea and drank it quickly, would’ve burned his tongue if he hadn’t expected it to be the perfect temperature.

Crowley had to smile. It had been six thousand years, and Aziraphale was as interesting as he'd been when Crowley had first slithered up to him. More so, in many ways. They'd had so much time to grow into themselves and adapt to Earth under the restrictions of their respective head offices and now they had time to do the same without those restrictions. Him actively trying to spend Christmas with the angel should've clued him in, really. 

"Maybe South Korea," he suggested, letting the stuttering go without a tease and picking a place he'd been to relatively recently. Not during the holidays, but actually on orders. Largely ignored, but orders just the same. "You'd like all the street vendors in the city and the countryside is peaceful enough. Wouldn't you miss all this, though?" 

Aziraphale looked up from his teacup, nervous energy abating. "Of course, but it isn’t as if we wouldn’t come back. I think it would be nice to see more of the world now that we don’t have to answer to head office. Go where we’d like, rather than where we’re sent. Don’t you think?"

"Mm." Crowley already did that. His car was his home, the flat a convenience, but he'd always had more freedom than Aziraphale. Not that it had kept the angel from popping in and out of places when he'd hear about a new restaurant or some book he just had to get his hands on. _Staying_ would be different, taking a holiday as he'd said. Together. He swayed oddly, disjointedly, as if his entire body needed to process that. "We can actually make _plans_ now. Without even needing an excuse."

Aziraphale nodded, watching him for a moment. He set down his cup so he could lay his hand against Crowley’s arm on the table. He wasn’t quite sure what he was offering, something stable, perhaps. Something to ground him in the moment. The here and now.

"We can," he agreed, rubbing his thumb over the fabric of his blazer. "Whenever we’d like. Well, I’d have to put up a new sign in the bookshop, but that wouldn’t take too much time. So… South Korea next year?"

Crowley looked down at the table and, perpetually trapped between going too fast for him and standing still, very slightly shifted his arm into the touch. "Yeah. I'd like to take you." Anywhere he wanted to go, as he'd once offered. He was still too wary to do it again, but a trip had been the angel's idea. 

"Right, well. I look forward to it." He squeezed his arm before removing the touch to fiddle with his napkin and didn’t say that he looked forward to more than just the next year, but the years spread before them and rife with possibilities. It was still overwhelming at times, almost unbelievable. "You must try one of the scones, dear fellow. They’re delightful."

Crowley watched his hand another moment more, sorting through and pushing down the jumble of feelings that held his throat hostage. He couldn't just _say_ he didn't mind the touch, that every single one created another knot binding him to the angel. It would probably be too much. It was too much for _him_. "Sure," was what came out. "What kind are they?" 

"Cherry. Oh, and with the fig jam." He pointed to the little pot on their table. 

It slid closer to him since no one was paying them any mind, one of the scones following suit. He didn't usually go out of his way to eat, but he didn't turn down Aziraphale's recommendations either. "Do you have a favorite thing about this season? To do or see or whatever."

"Oh," he sighed happily, picking up a peppermint profiterole for himself. "Oh, I don’t think I could choose. Between the food, the lights, the merriment…" He took a moment to really think on it though, to give Crowley a proper answer. 

"I suppose it would have to be- and I’m being quite serious, but it’s the love. The air is just filled with it, for all sorts of things. I can feel it everywhere I go, in little flutters, like snow flurries falling, the nip of them brief before they melt against skin, but the feeling still lingers somehow. Love for family, for memories… Love as they savor every second. They don’t have forever, their seasons are limited, so they love and cherish to the fullest this time of year. They take advantage of the snatches of time that they have and make the most of it, always a blend of joy and melancholy. I suppose there’s always a little bit of melancholy in memories, even the good ones, but love still shines through it. Being immersed in that… sharing a bit of that with humanity, it… didn’t make up for the things I permitted to happen in Heaven’s name, but it helped. Helps, still."

Aziraphale looked down at his lap. "I know that isn’t exactly what you were asking, but everything- the food, the lights, and merriment… it all means something because of that feeling. But here I am just carrying on, when I could just as easily say ‘peppermint.’" He flashed Crowley a quick smile as he finally popped the profiterole into his mouth, humming around the cool burst of flavor on his tongue.

"S'fine. Fits in the 'whatever' category." Crowley took a bit of the scone to give himself time, but he forgot to actually taste it. It was just the sort of answer he should've been expecting. Of course he'd cherish all the emotions that had been exactly what had terrified Crowley into sleeping the season away in the first place. It made him feel guilty, though, just brushing it off. So made himself swallow and admitted, "It was in the temptation to start it. Or the blessing, I guess. Didn't think it'd... evolve the way it has, but humans."

The blue stood out a little more in Aziraphale’s eyes as they widened, the napkin pressed to his lips slowly lowering. For a moment, his corporation slipped and let its heart race. He heard what Crowley didn’t say, whether because he didn’t want to or because he couldn’t, but he heard it just the same. A demon took a blessing meant for him and planted a seed of love right in the center of it, then stepped back and let it grow. He couldn’t have more of a hand in it than that, not with Hell to answer to, but what he _had_ done… Well, it was what he’d always done, wasn’t it? Left it to humanity to decide.

But he gave them that first seed of love. He gave it to Aziraphale. This time when he reached out, it was Crowley’s hand that he held onto.

"I don’t suppose I could… say ‘thank you?’"

"Ngk." Between the look and the touch, his chest was filled with all sorts of knots. He didn't know whether or lean into them or run, what would be too fast or too slow. He just wanted to do right by his angel, something he'd never worried about for anyone else. "If you want. S'nobody else to answer to anymore."

A tenderness filled Aziraphale’s gaze, the kind that ached with the enormity of the feeling and welcomed with arms and heart open. "Thank you, Crowley." It wasn’t something he ever said, that they had grown to accept would never be said between them like so many other unspoken things, but that didn’t mean it should stay that way.

It was a mortifying thing to hear, the tips of his ears burning before he got control of that. He was absolutely not going to blush or anything even close to it, though panic continued to skitter under his skin like... like something. He couldn't metaphor with Aziraphale looking at him like that and touching his hand. The sound he made lived somewhere between a sizzling dinner plate and a scared cat and it was as humiliating as the thanks. _Fuck_. "Sssure."

Aziraphale had to tamp down the way his look turned adoring. It wouldn’t do to overwhelm the poor dear, no matter if it felt like his heart was quite literally spilling over. Not the literal heart, of course. He glanced down at their hands, memorizing the look of them together - on a table, out in the open, in the middle of the day - before letting him go. His point had gotten across; they both made it through. It would take time to make this their new normal, but they had all the time in the world now, didn’t they?

"More champagne, dearest?" he asked, giving Crowley an out as he lifted his own glass.

Damn embarrassing angel, he thought, grateful for him all the same. Christmas might just discorporate him, but... But there'd been progress somehow. He looked down at his hand, fingers flexing a little. He didn't know what exactly to do with or about progress, but it was there just the same. 

Alcohol might help. "Yeah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Or goodbye, I suppose, as this is the end of the chapter  
> Not the end of the fic, though~  
> We have four chapters written and will be posting them once a day until Christmas Eve!  
> Hopefully you all enjoy these two idiots passing their single brain cell back and forth for their first Christmas together, lol


	2. The Tree & The Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want a soundtrack to this fic, definitely check out [This Christmas](https://open.spotify.com/track/69ge8DkfDXGV6SdOtDNuzw?si=cIkJ1gt2R5KieNJa8Wqemw) by Gladys Knight & The Pips. This is 100% Aziraphale.
> 
> We also just have [a whole playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/420dqrPs1KlQEUsfCVeNab?si=WiyojjCwR3iRXcSewiPfiA) if anyone cares about that, lol  
> Merry Christmas! Almost <3

The problem with being a cold-blooded snake and a demon was that his vessel never quite knew what to do in the winter. He always wanted to curl up somewhere and conserve energy, but could flare natural enough warmth throughout his limbs. Remembering to do that consistently was the difficult bit, early nightfall not helping the situation any. He felt as bad as the humans, really, having to fight every yawn when his skin cooled again. 

Of course, wearing some actual winter clothes would help but they weren't his style. He didn't think that argument would work with Aziraphale, following him into the lift to his flat. "I only fell asleep for a second. If that. I didn't even hit anything."

"Because I was there to miracle that elderly couple to safety on the other side of the street!" Aziraphale snapped, refusing to look at him, nerves still alight with the frantic energy that Crowley’s driving inspired on a normal basis, multiplied tenfold when he realized the demon had been, "Sleeping, Crowley! At the wheel of your car."

"Well, _you_ be a snake staying up when it's barely eight degrees out. Forgot to warm up, that's all."

"Well, if you wore a coat- or a hat, or a proper scarf," he gestured to the mesh one looped around his neck, "then you wouldn’t have to worry about remembering."

"Right, but then I'd have to wear all that."

That got Aziraphale to look at him, but it was so he could frown disapprovingly at his ridiculousness. "I’d say it’s a small price to pay. You could’ve discorporated us! And what if I hadn’t been there? Who knows how long you would’ve stayed asleep and what would’ve happened."

"It's _fine_. You were there and all's well." There wasn't any use in dwelling on what ifs, in his mind. They were never good. "I'll pay better attention."

"And at _least_ wear a pair of gloves," Aziraphale sighed, then tried to appear more accommodating. "They do have black leather ones, you know. Rather snazzy looking. Right up your alley."

"'Snazzy?'" he echoed, stepping off the lift. At least his flat was warm. "Really, angel."

"Well, it suits you more than ‘spiffy,’ I’d say." There was also a fireplace in the flat where there hadn’t been before, laden with large logs already burning cheerily away, a safe distance away from the other new addition. "Oh, our tree," Aziraphale cooed, his grievances with Crowley momentarily waylaid. "I knew it would suit your flat."

The demon eyed the fireplace before he did the tree. It wasn't unpleasant, but it had been unexpected. At least it blended into the wall properly. It was exasperating to realize that Aziraphale did, in fact, understand modernism. He just didn't like it in his own space. Ridiculous angel. 

His gaze finally shifted to the tree, a brow raising at the tartan skirt as he slipped off his sunglasses. His angel was going to be the end of him, really. He had no idea if the tree had started to root in the soil he'd provided, but pines must be resilient things if they'd been used as Christmas decor as long as they had. If the thing knew what was good for it, it'd take root so he could bully it properly. It almost wasn't fair since it had already been crippled, but Crowley wasn't going to let _it_ know that. Aziraphale's babying would soothe any guilt anyway. 

"We'll see if it behaves itself."

Aziraphale set down a few shopping bags near the tree. "Under your strict and green thumb, I don't see how it could possibly. Now, you go stand by the fire and I'll get the lights sorted."

"I don't need to stand by the fire. I can warm myself fine." 

"Clearly, as you've already demonstrated this evening, you cannot." Aziraphale shooed him towards the fire. "You can help me after you've stood there for at least… Hm, what's an acceptable amount of time? Five minutes?" 

"Five- I'm a demon! It's _instant_." During the summer, it just didn't take any effort. He soaked up the sun like a solar panel. "And why would it take you any amount of time? You just-" he waved a hand because it was obvious, "-miracle it."

"Well some of it, yes. Like the lights. They get tangled up, you see, so a miracle helps with that. But for the ornaments, well, half the fun is putting them on the tree yourself. Aha!" After some rifling through the bag, the angel came away with a box of the icicle lights. "For the windows. Now, demon, warm thyself up or I'll go talk to your plants. Maybe next time you won't forget and fall asleep while driving."

"I _am_ warm," he protested. "You can't make me stand by a fire, watching you putter about for five minutes, in my own flat."

Even though he was doing just that only a minute later, leaned against the wall beside the fireplace with his arms folded and a scowl on his face. There had to be some sort of defense mechanism against blue eyes. Those ones in particular. He was a menace, and he was making him look bad in front of the damn tree. Git. 

Said git was hemming and hawing over where to drape the icicle lights in the window. With a snap they lengthened, framing the top of the glass overlooking the city, then another snap and they lined the edges of the ceiling of the entire great room. With a satisfied sigh and wiggle, he returned to the shopping bags for the rest of their items. Bright white lights looped around the tree, followed by sleek silver tinsel.

"How's that, my dear?" Aziraphale aimed his smile at the sulking demon. 

Crowley refused to return the smile. He didn't care that it was actually nice to watch him putter about with all that warm cheer that was just so innately _him_. "Looks alright," was at least honest. 

It also pleased the angel, who paused to admire the tree, stroking one of the branches to encourage it. Then he dug into the boxes of ornaments, the silver and gold baubles they'd picked up just that day, and the ones from his shop. The older, fragile ones were carefully wrapped in tissue paper, unfolded with precision and care. The first he unwrapped was in the shape of a dove, hand blown from glass. He held it up to watch it catch the firelight, without a single crack in its wings.

Aziraphale brought it over for Crowley to see. "This one I picked up during a Christmas in Germany. In the…" He counted back on his fingers. "Late 1800s, yes. But before…" His gaze lingered on the demon's face for a moment, taken back to the tense set of his jaw, the hurt exchanged between them that caused more than half a century of silence. "Before they caught on in America, really, that was at the turn of the century. During your nap." His smile returned as he held it out for him to take, gaze expectant and hopeful. 

Crowley gave in with a small sigh, very carefully taking the pretty little ornament. It was light and delicate, the paint still vibrant only because an angel owned it. He wanted to defend himself against the pause, knowing what was in the empty space, but didn't think Aziraphale would ever believe that the holy water he'd asked for had never been meant for him. "It's a pretty thing," he said instead. "Are you going to let me out of timeout so I can help you hang these?" 

Aziraphale sighed and gave him a look. "You weren't in timeout. But yes, you may hang that one, if you'd like. The first ornament for our tree."

He'd definitely been in timeout, but he didn't bother to argue over it. He just sauntered over to the tree and hissed a soft warning against any pricking of fingers with those needles _or else_. He didn't elaborate, but there was a blazing fire nearby. He didn't need to.

In direct contrast to wicked threats, his grip on the little glass dove was gentle as he hung it. It wouldn't have mattered if he'd dropped it or broken it somehow with a snap all they needed to fix it, but it didn't occur to him. His angel had given him something precious to handle, so he was careful. Simple. "Do all your ornaments have something of a story?" 

"Most of them do, yes. Though some of the stories are quite short and simply amount to 'I saw them and bought them just because I liked them,'" he chuckled to himself as he unwrapped another, holding up a tiny, spun cotton ornament in the shape of a pear. "I couldn't resist. It's just so darling, and the attention to detail!" 

"You are the most ridiculous being on this entire planet, and I hope you know that." But there was entirely too much fondness in eyes he'd foolishly uncovered. 

Aziraphale huffed, rolling his eyes, but the glance back he gave him mirrored that same fondness. "There were lots of little cotton fruit and vegetable ornaments like this one, I'll have you know. Other people clearly had an interest as well." He wandered over to the other side of the tree and placed the pear on a high branch, bouncing up on the balls of his feet to reach. "And I like pears."

"As a general rule, you like anything so long as it's edible." He glared at the tree and it quickly dipped the branch into Aziraphale's reach. 

"How dare you. I do have some favorites." Aziraphale ran his fingertips gently over the pine needles in quiet gratitude, letting it lift back up once the hook was secure. "Though I suppose… I did pick up an ornament that looked like a bunch of grapes from the same vendor. And an apple." His gaze flitted to Crowley, then away as he bustled back over to the box.

"That's not a surprise." Crowley took the apple when it was offered, settling on a branch within comfortable reach for them both. Apples, even back to the Garden, had always been incredibly easy to reach. "What if... we both did the good thing? At the start."

Aziraphale watched him, gaze soft as the golden eyes he so rarely got a chance to see like this lingered on the once forbidden fruit. "I…" He licked his lips and thought a moment, busying his hands with another wrapped ornament. "Would that be so bad? If we did… Or maybe it wasn't so much good as it was… what needed to happen. For life to grow as it did."

"Maybe. It just didn't make sense. She always said - _before_ , y'know - that She was going to test them. How can You do that if the thing taking the test doesn't see all the options? Doesn't even know there _are_ options?" 

The questions spilled from the demon, his curiosity and wondering ever guiding him. Humming to himself, Aziraphale unwrapped the next ornament, an indented bauble that had been a gift from a Victorian Christmas party he’d helped with. He fiddled with it, the curved middle meant to reflect the lights in the tree and illuminate the colors within it. He went to hang it on the tree, not far from the apple. 

"Humans were meant to make choices," Aziraphale agreed, standing close to Crowley. "And they can’t very well make choices if they don’t _know_ the difference between the right thing to do and the wrong thing. Knowledge is key. And my purpose was to guide and protect humanity, regardless of those choices." 

Nodding to himself, Crowley watched the ornament sparkle against the lights. Part of him had just been expecting him to say it was ineffable, but hindsight had to count for something. He'd been prepared to argue about it. But it was just like his angel to surprise him still. It was part of why he wasn't bored of him yet, why he never would be. "It still is, I'd think, with you being how you are. Just... not by yourself."

Aziraphale turned to him, but stilled as he was caught in his stare, taking a moment to look into his eyes, bared and vulnerable. "Of course," he murmured, the corners of his mouth quirking up. "Our side."

"Exactly." They each had their own methods for getting things done, but the goal had become the same without a Heavenly or Hellish influence: they'd keep the world and humanity going. 

For Crowley, it meant doing it together or he wouldn't be there helping him hang ornaments on a crippled tree in _his_ flat. There was _tartan_ on a loveseat and at their feet, a crackling fire, and shining Christmas lights when there was normally silent darkness whilst he slept. It was still just this side of overwhelming, but it was better. 

He'd take whatever was happening with them over a nap any day of the year. "Our side, angel."

It wasn’t the bookshop, and wasn’t how he’d normally spent Christmas, but Aziraphale also couldn’t think of one single better way to spend the month of December. The flat was turning out to be the perfect canvas for blending their respective aesthetics. Maybe it would only be for Christmas, but maybe it would also be the catalyst to invite them to further blur the line between them.

To start, Aziraphale opened the package of new, shiny ornaments to add a few of them to the tree. A balance of old traditions and new, a perfect representation of this year beyond the holiday season. A dark gray, mirrored sphere hung beside a Victorian Father Christmas, and several gold baubles shone with the same hue as Crowley’s eyes in the warm light. Little trumpets and pinecones and colorful glass were taken from Aziraphale’s box with care, each unwrapped one by one with a bit of a story to share.

The angel hesitated when he pulled an oblong wrapped shape from the box, almost putting it back, then second-guessing that decision, then second-guessed again. He knew exactly what ornament he was holding, and any attempts to go about to the back of the tree where Crowley couldn’t see it would be for naught with the demon raising an eyebrow at him. Of course, how on Earth could an ornament of all things be scandalous?

Long like one of the icicle-shaped, blown glass ornaments, it differed from them by gently coiling down from a glass bulb top until it tapered at the bottom. There was no mistaking that it was serpentine in nature, the glass tinted so it almost looked like burnished metal. When he’d first laid eyes on it, Aziraphale made the connection instantaneously, while the part of him fluttering in denial convinced him that if anyone from head office saw it on his tree, it could easily be written off as a more experimental, teardrop ornament. It didn’t have to have anything to do with snakes or serpents at all. Of course he wouldn’t have a _serpent_ on his tree.

Except he had, every year since 1901. Aziraphale pointedly didn’t look at Crowley as he carried it over and searched for a place for it on the tree. He always liked to be able to see it from his reading chair, so went to the side facing the loveseat and found a decent-sized gap somewhere in the middle.

"There we go," he said, just to say something, and fiddled with some of the other nearby ornaments for something to do with his hands. "I think it’s coming along nicely. We’re almost through all the boxes."

"Right." But it sounded off, a little cracked around the edges, a little too soft, and filled with far too many emotions. 

He'd never thought - not once, not a single time in the 1,745 years since he'd given a pope a fake birthday wrapped in an angel-inspired combination of a blessing and a tempting - that Aziraphale would have an ornament or _anything_ that looked like that. But there it was, as classic looking as all the rest. Why-? When-? Where-? 

_Why_? 

It was impossible to suffocate when one didn't have to breathe, but that was the only way he knew to describe the _pressure_ in his chest. He'd been avoiding looking at angelic Christmas decorations for years and the angel just _had_ a snake one. Like it was an alright thing to have. Completely normal. Just put your hereditary enemy up as part of your celebration of _love_. 

It was _worse_ than the hand-holding at the Ritz. That hadn't come with a heap of guilt. He was a _demon_. He wasn't supposed to be feeling things like guilt, but he wasn't supposed to feel all the rest of it either, was he? How to be a Demon 101 - no love, no guilt. He really was a shite demon when it came down to it. And it was really no wonder that the angel had turned him down twice. Three times. He'd asked him to run away twice during the Apoca-not. Three times, but he still had a snake on his tree. 

He wanted to disappear into a heap of scales under the loveseat or pop into his Bentley and just leave. Over a bit of blown glass, of all things. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, a sharp hiss not quite helping relieve the pressure, so he spun away from the tree, gangly on limbs he suddenly didn't know quite how to use, to saunter to his desk and find a decanter of brandy that had always been there or had only just appeared with his need. Even he wasn't quite sure as he slammed down a snifter and let its heat smother the feelings down to something manageable again. This holiday really was going to kill him. 

"I-" Aziraphale stared at Crowley’s back as his voice failed him, brow knitting in concern as the demon appeared to be coming apart at the seams. His gaze flitted to the tree, regret rising up into his throat. Perhaps it was too much. Oh, what was he thinking? Of _course_ it was too much.

With surprisingly steady hands - they had to be steady, he had to handle it with care - he removed the serpentine ornament from the tree and cradled it against his chest. "I can- I can put it away," his voice rose with a hesitant lilt. "I’m sorry, Crowley. I- I’ll put it away, yes." He looked down at it, nearly tempted to tuck it somewhere hidden amongst the branches, but he couldn’t do that. Not if Crowley really didn’t like it on the tree. "It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable."

Oh, that hurt worse. Who in Heaven or Hell would let that hurt worse? Crowley glared upwards. He knew who. Guilt hadn't been Satan's bloody fucking idea. "Leave it alone, angel."

Something in Aziraphale stuttered to a stop as he processed the demand. He studied the tension in his shoulders, the lithe lines of his body a lingering echo of the first form he saw him in, no longer loose and languid. But he wasn’t, the angel realized with a start, angry. Well, maybe a little bit angry, but normally that involved quite a bit more shouting. Upset still, perhaps, but far be it from him to ask Crowley if he was upset. That would surely only upset the demon more.

"You’re sure?" he asked him, just to be… well, sure.

Crowley resealed the decanter and cleaned the glass. "If you want it there..." His angel wanted him as part of the holiday he'd avoided virtually since it had begun. "Just leave it, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale dropped his gaze to the ornament, a silly little thing to get so worked up over, and perhaps it was silly of him to even get a snake ornament in the first place. But he'd wanted it on his tree the moment he saw it, decades into missing his friend and wondering if bloody holy water would truly be what came between them, and he still wanted it on his tree. Their tree.

Carefully, he put it back on its branch, fingertips smoothing over the coils as he left it to hang there. Exhaling a breath he didn’t need, Aziraphale straightened his waistcoat and strode over to the desk. A second glass was miracled into his hand and a pointed glance exchanged with Crowley as he held the other out for the decanter.

"I think you have the right idea with that."

"Yeah, well..." Crowley passed it, watching him pour. "I lied," he heard himself say and could've cursed himself. 

Aziraphale stopped and set the decanter down, but didn’t drink as he stared at the demon. For all the times he accused him of lying - because he was a demon and that’s what demons did - he actually wasn’t at all prepared for that kind of admission. His throat bobbed as it tried to wring his voice out of him.

"About?" He tried to sound casual, but he was not a good actor and was quite certain that he failed.

Crowley was quite certain of the same, but only sighed. He couldn't slink away without explaining at least a little. He wasn't going to be the one to ruin this. "When you were told to repackage Saturnalia into something Christians would take to, I lied. There was never a temptation I was scheduled to do in Rome. They were getting on grand."

"But you said…" Aziraphale started, but then realized that was the point of lying, wasn’t it? Saying something that wasn’t truthful. He glanced down at his drink, then knocked it back, deciding he would very much need it for whatever this conversation was turning into. "Why?"

"Because of you." Crowley waved a hand as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It was a whole _week_ celebrating a made up god of _agriculture_. You knew I loved it and you never used to come to me first in those days." Before the Arrangement and even after for a time. "So I knew you _really_ felt bad, and I didn't want you to and I knew you wouldn't do it right _because_ you felt bad. It had to be done right, or it was never going to take and I didn't want you to get into trouble. Again." He'd always been in trouble, so much of the world polytheistic in those days. False idols galore. 

"I beg your pardon, I would have done it-" Just fine, was what his defenses demanded he say, his turn to bristle and glare. Except Crowley had a point, an actual point. "I wanted to give you some warning," back then he'd told himself it was because it was the kind thing to do and he was an angel, he had a duty to be kind to all, "I didn't want you to think… That I didn't take your feelings into account. We might have been enemies, but…"

Aziraphale's shoulders slumped, his old arguments so dull and brittle on their side. He poured himself another, but this time sipped at it, nudging the bottle back to Crowley.

"We didn't even have the Arrangement yet," he murmured into his drink. "Why did it matter to you if I received another reprimand?" 

He _really_ wasn't ready to say that aloud, so shrugged and poured himself another glass. "Because it was you."

"Crowley," he sighed, but when he looked at him he could only feel that aching fondness tugging at the core of his being. "Hell could have found out," he tried to reason.

"I don't care. I've no idea what gave you the impression that I'd care more about Hell than you, but it's definitely the wrong one to have."

"No, I know that," Aziraphale huffed, frowning at him over the rim of the glass. "But you were always saying what they’d do to you if they found out about the Arrangement, and at least with that there were some temptations being done. You made _Christmas_ \- and you didn’t even have something to even the scales."

Crowley scowled. "And I've been suffering plenty from it, thanks." 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened in alarm as he placed a steadying hand against the desk. "What? What did they-? They didn’t find out, did they?"

"No! Nobody found out it was me. But it was a big win for you, wasn't it? Give anybody a party and they'll flock to a religion and that was the easiest thing to do." Crowley paced away, paced back to flop in his chair. The suffering was all his own doing. "All I had to do was give some pope that carpenter's name and they were already weirdly celebrating the whole crucifixion on the wrong day. Didn't hurt to give them a wrong birthdate too. Tie that to everything I saw and see in _you_ and there you have it. Christmas decimates Saturnalia to the point no one even knows it existed unless they do special, weirdly specific research."

"That’s…" Aziraphale shook his head, frowning at Crowley’s desk while he attempted to absorb the words. The bite and annoyance in his tone washed over him as one thing stood out amongst all his reasoning. "Everything you see… in _me_?" He lifted his gaze, wide and wondering as it finally sank in. "You took a holiday you enjoyed and you made it for me?" 

Not for Heaven, not for the Arrangement, and not because he wanted the angel in his debt or owing him or anything like he’d thought when he’d first seen the success of Crowley’s Christmas. Surely, Aziraphale had thought then, he’d gone over the top because he’d come to collect one day, as demons did. Then as time passed, he’d thought that was just Crowley’s style, like with Hamlet’s success and the way he dispatched the Nazis in the church and the heist for holy water...

"Crowley…"

"Don't start. I told you it had to be done right. Saturnalia was fun in a way Christianity wouldn't have taken to at the time, so of course it meant- It meant adding you. Nobody does cozy warm cheerfulness like you or generosity or- Or any of it like you. Traditions! Even back then, you'd mark the years in your own way. And nobody just bloody takes over like you do either." He waved a hand to encompass his flat, all the decorations and extra pieces of furniture and books Aziraphale had brought in. "No one _ever_ , in a million years, would think I had anything to do with something that's so entirely you." Really, he should've expected the bloody angel wings and decorations to start popping up. "Except you have a snake ornament and you hung it up like it was _normal_. Like I actually have a part in any of it."

"But you _did_. Crowley, you’re right, I wouldn’t have been able to do all of this. I would have felt guilty for spoiling your fun and resentful that Heaven was demanding something like a holiday when they could’ve demanded something- something _better_. Something that helped people, never knowing that this day _could_ do that." Aziraphale bustled over to his side of the desk, hovering beside the arm of his chair. "But you made it possible. Even if you did it through adding me, _I_ wouldn’t have done it that way. I wouldn’t have thought to add any of my feelings this way, and I wasn’t expected to. I mean, really, Heaven thinks the angels were a nod to Gabriel of all things, which also might be why I received a commendation for it, but that’s beside the point."

Shaking his head, Aziraphale stepped a bit closer, holding onto the tall back of the throne-like chair. "The point is… you’ve always been a part of my Christmas. There’s not one bit of it that doesn’t make me think of you." 

Crowley wished he hadn't sat down or at least that he had his sunglasses. To solve at least one of those problems, he snapped and let the chair stretch out in what was part invitation and part plea to get them back into something familiar. "You _are_ the only one who knows I had a hand in it, angel," he muttered, not sure how else to mitigate his words. 

"For our respective safety, yes," he agreed, sliding into the seat offered to him without question. "But that doesn’t diminish your role, dearest. And if I’m the only one who knows and the only one who has a snake ornament on my tree, then so be it, but that will not stop me from making you a part of it where I can."

Crowley angled towards him, drawn to him always, and tried to keep his tone light in the face of the heavy words. They wormed their way into his heart, though, tucked safely away with everything else. "Somebody else might have one a good century newer than yours. I mean, people have weird hobbies nowadays."

"Well, they have excellent taste, then," Aziraphale huffed, sitting up straight with his chin lifted, but there was a smile tucked away in the side glance he sent him. "I always wanted to express my gratitude to you, for all you did with Christmas, but in ways you wouldn’t find offensive. I understand why you couldn’t be around it, but little things like the ornament helped in that respect. Giving you a place on my tree seemed the very least I could do."

"S'not an ugly ornament at least." Crowley slouched a little more, letting his shoe touch Aziraphale's. "And I really don't need gratitude for this. It's nearly been two thousand years. I'd just like to see what you do with it. Hasn't been so bad, really."

"You think so?" He sat back, tipping his head to watch Crowley relax.

Crowley lifted a hand, satisfied when his glass filled it. There was something oddly cathartic about telling him more about the start of Christmas. Especially since he'd accepted the truth as easily as he had. "Yeah. D'you?" 

Aziraphale miracled his glass back into his hand as well, holding it out to clink against Crowley’s. "I do, yes. I’ve rather enjoyed it so far."

"Good." He sat up enough to actually reach Aziraphale's glass. "D'you really have more ornaments? Our tree looks packed."

"It does rather." Aziraphale considered it for a moment as he took a sip. "I believe it looks plenty festive. I’ll send the others back to the bookshop." With a snap the box was packed up and tucked safely away in a storage closet filled with other bits and bobs the angel had accumulated over the years. "A job well done, my dear."

It always got so dark in his flat during the winters. Long nights didn't work well for high windows and a smoky paint scheme. But this was different. Dark, still, but in a warm way rather than a cold one. The lights Aziraphale had strung up, both on the ceilings and wrapped around the tree, glowed golden. 

He'd known Christmas would take hold with the way he'd packaged it, but he'd never imagined it quite like this. "I think so. Even though you brought tartan in here," he teased, amusement in his gaze as he took a drink. 

"Tartan is stylish!" Aziraphale defended still, but relaxed a little more with Crowley entertaining himself now. "And it ties it all together. Our tree in your flat with my tartan." 

"You had to pick tartan to tie it all together? You've got your books in here too."

"Tartan ties it all together," he repeated with a contented sigh and sipped his drink.

"Difficult," he complained, lips twitching. 

It was rather neatly packaged, though he wouldn't admit it. He'd never seen a need to fill his flat with _things_. A souvenir plucked up here and there, things from days he wanted to remember or the first film he'd ever gone to in a theatre or the occasional human he was fascinated by, but never anything of real substance. He'd needed one seat, one desk to make it look like he did work and as a place to put his telephone, and a bed. Not crowded. Hell had always been too crowded, everyone bumping elbows and tripping over one another in the darkness. 

Aziraphale's bookshop felt comfortably cluttered rather than crowded. There was always enough space for the two of them and that's what mattered there because Crowley understood the coldness of Heaven's empty spaces just as he thought Aziraphale might understand needing a place different from Hell's crampedness. But if this was what having a small amount of extra things brought, maybe he'd keep some of it after the holidays. The fireplace and perhaps a second chair. Something Aziraphale would like, obviously. 

But that was for later. He lifted a hand, plucking a Royal Albert Hall pamphlet with dates and event info from thin air and offering it. "Here, angel. Pick the nights, and I'll get the tickets. Might even pay for them."

Aziraphale wiggled happily, thumbing through their options. "Oh, there will be a performance of Dickens' _A Christmas Carol_ tomorrow night. That would be a lovely way to spend the evening, don't you think? Ah, and the _Nutcracker_ begins the night before Christmas Eve. We could see it then? It's Tchaikovsky, you know."

"Is it? He was a theatrical sort, wasn't he? Always seems to be that way with big families." Crowley set his glass on the desk, retrieving his phone to actually purchase tickets for both nights. He'd play with seats if he didn't like what was left. "I've probably heard some of it somewhere or other."

"I wouldn't doubt it. Some very famous pieces come from the Nutcracker Suite," Aziraphale hummed, continuing to peruse the pamphlet. "How do you feel about jazz music, my dear?" 

"Dunno. It's usually fine." More than. He had something of a soft spot for it. Christmas music was a different sort of thing, though. "It sounded alright at the Ritz, the music, and that was just piano. So I'd probably like other versions."

"Ah, then perhaps we could try that. I don’t know that I’ve heard enough jazz to say whether or not I’m a fan, so they say, but if they’re playing Christmas classics, it could be interesting," the angel mused, reaching out to pat Crowley’s knee, then handed him back the pamphlet. "Let’s see this little concert, too. A Big Band Christmas."

"Sure, angel." He skimmed the little informational blurb on the show. "They used to play jazz in little clubs in the States back in the 1920s. Spent the whole decade 'round there with their stupid little Prohibition thing."

"I thought you were still asleep in the 1920s." Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and tutted. "Of course the threat of banning alcohol from an entire country would rouse you."

"It roused _Hell_ , who roused me. They were... a little miffed that I didn't make it there in time to stop it and its moral messages from sweeping the nation so I had to behave a bit. To Hell's standards, anyway."

Aziraphale hummed, casting him a sidelong glance. "Did behaving involve sampling cocktails at the speakeasies while you were at it?"

He grinned, unashamed. "Where do you think I heard the music?"

"Of course. And I suppose bootlicking was your idea?"

It took him a moment before he rolled his eyes skyward. "Boot _legging_ ," he corrected, amused by the soft "ah." Ridiculous angel. "And no, it wasn't my _idea_ , but I had some fun with it. And it even killed two birds once they started getting desperate enough to be idiots and put dangerous chemicals in their drinks. I flooded the market with _real_ alcohol, so Hell was pleased and fewer humans ended up poisoned, so I was.

"The New Orleans speakeasies were my favorite bit, though. Listening to the music forming and all. I used to wonder," the brandy slid closer, filling his glass again, "what you'd think of it. Not the bootlegging and the illegality of it all, but the jazz. If you'd find it all too impulsive and swingy or if you'd appreciate how organic it all was. They were still figuring out the rules, what sounded best with what. It was a good time." If a little lonely. 

"It certainly sounds like it was," Aziraphale agreed, softening as he listened. He gave his own glass a contemplative swirl. "We must have just missed each other. I was in America, for a brief stint in the late 1910s. Working on the end of the war, you see. But I was up in New York. Seeing as it’s a fairly large country, I don’t know that we would have run into each other." Even though a part of him had looked as he ventured from country to country in the midst of World War I, spreading a little extra peace in every declaration and treaty in an attempt to attract a certain demon’s attention. "Do they still play jazz music? In New Orleans?"

"I like to think so, but I haven't been back since. Everything changed so suddenly right at the end of the decade, I got a commendation for quick work and left to see what was what." 

He hadn't even known what stocks were at the time. So much had happened in the way of economics and technology since he'd fallen asleep, more than he was used to during any of his previous naps. He'd been pretty surprised when he'd heard people talking of a _second_ world war, not even fully aware of the first yet. 

He hadn't really thought about it at the time, but of course Aziraphale would've been involved somehow. "Kept yourself busy during the first war then?" 

"I did, yes." Oh, busy didn’t even begin to cover it. 

Aziraphale had been no stranger to wars, had a few run-ins with the Horseperson over the millenia, but he’d never seen one like the first world war. The loss of life had been so great, the devastation staggering when he’d ventured to the trenches once to boost morale and bless any souls who felt lost amidst the chaos. He changed tactics when the war raged on, taking a more diplomatic route behind the scenes when it all became a bit much, in an attempt to end it as soon as possible.

Not that Crowley needed all the details, and he’d surely heard of the horrors at some point since waking up. "Wherever there was talk of peace, I’d go and encourage it. Spent a few years popping over to different countries. Russia, America, France… Heaven didn’t have a particular agenda in this war, so as long as I was doing something to ensure the ‘right side’ won, they didn’t really care how. Of course, when the second world war came about they were a bit stricter. Said if I’d done my job properly the first time around-" He frowned, brushing aside that oft repeated sentiment ‘wars are to be won, not averted.’ "Doesn’t matter. At any rate, you were there for the second, you know what happened and how our roles played out."

It had been a sort of Hell once they'd realized the full extent of things, but he'd actually done some research - actual reading - about the first and he knew that had been too. Trenches and chemical warfare, Pollution starting to poke their nasty self into things even before becoming an official Horseperson. Crowley took a sip of his drink, silence filling the space as it usually did when any of the time period was actually brought up. But if they could say thank you on their side... 

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for the first, angel. I thought- Y'know, I thought you'd understand why I asked you for holy water? We'd been together so long, and there was... a bit of an incident that almost got us found out. My fault." He waved a hand to let it go. "But then you went off in a huff. I should've popped off someplace instead of taking a nap. I'm sorry."

Aziraphale’s frown vanished as he blinked at him. An apology was the last thing he’d expected. It went unspoken that they both had regrets over the entire thing, and Aziraphale had taken the night at the church with the books and the lift home as Crowley’s way of saying he still wanted to be his friend. That he cared for him. The Arrangement was never truly the same after that, but it hadn’t mattered, not when there were drinks in the backroom and shows to see and restaurants to try.

"Oh… oh, my dear, you have nothing to apologize for. We both… may have overreacted a bit, but it was out of a place of concern on my part, you must understand. Although I understand that it may not have been clear back then. For most of our acquaintance." Aziraphale shifted closer to him, their shoes solidly touching now, along the sides. "It helped me to realize how much I…" 

There was a dryness in his mouth that he knew a sip of brandy wouldn’t fix, an odd feeling he couldn’t spare the attention to disregard when looking into Crowley’s eyes. There was something he could’ve said, but like the apology in 1941, it wasn’t ready to be spoken. 

"I truly valued your companionship," he finished, just as truthful still, even if it was only part of the enormous swell of emotions orbiting around the demon. "And still value. Obviously."

"Obviously," Crowley echoed softly, sitting up a little to make the bit of contact easier and tossing an arm over the back of his elongated chair. "But it was _never_ meant for me. You didn't believe me then. You didn't even believe me when you finally did give me some." But maybe on their side... "Aziraphale, I'd never leave you alone. I can't keep you out of trouble if I'm not around. It was always meant to be used exactly as I used it."

There was still the smallest flicker of doubt in his eyes. "You were always so afraid of what they’d do to you if they found out. They didn’t send rude notes, they’d destroy you. There wasn’t any conceivable way you could fight off all the forces of Hell with any amount of holy water I could give you, Crowley. I don’t think it was too far-fetched of me to jump to that conclusion then. You weren’t exactly forthcoming with your reasons for wanting it, either." But then again, wasn’t that also what he was apologizing for now? "Though I… I believe you now. And I suppose I owe you an apology as well. For not believing you and for diminishing your importance to me for so long. You deserved more than that."

"Tch. Not from an angel."

"I’m not any angel. Just as you’re not any demon," Aziraphale reminded him, tone soft but adamant in his words. "I’ll accept your apology if you accept mine."

It was true. He certainly hadn't been as well-behaved as an angel ought, but that couldn't be a bad thing. He was as radiant as he'd ever been. And Crowley had never been able to resist him. Or teasing him. "Course I will. Not that you're supposed to be trading forgiveness. Thought it should be given freely and all that."

"Oh," Aziraphale tsked, rolling his eyes, but he squeezed Crowley’s knee and gave it a little shake. "You’ve already had my forgiveness, you wily serpent."

"Just checking." 

The touch made his lips twitch as much as the fond exasperation in the words, Crowley finding it as warming as the brandy or the fire. He lifted a quick snap, three neat envelopes appearing on the desk. They could've easily just walked into the hall, picked seats, and no one would've paid them any mind, but actual tickets were solid. Evidence of planning they'd done and could continue to do together felt important. 

It was just as important and a little exciting to follow through on those plans, though going to shows together was hardly new for them. It had always been a good cover, disappearing into crowds and whispering to each other while the actors or musicians or, more recently, films were performed or played.

Crowley had quickly found an affinity for the movie theaters and would still wander into them now and again on his own to watch whatever happened to be playing. He'd especially liked them for Arrangement rendezvous back in the days where films had intermissions the same as a play. It was easier to keep together when he could offer Aziraphale a bucket of popcorn and a shrug of "just curious how it'll end." And, to be very fair, the angel never fought very hard to leave. 

Neither of them even considered it during _A Christmas Carol_ , though they certainly whispered through it. 

"Oh, you didn't tell me this was _gloomy_."

"You didn't ask. Besides, it's lovely."

And,

"If any of them says 'God bless us, everyone' one more time, I'm setting the stage on fire."

"You'll do no such thing." Pause. "It's usually the last line." Cheerful little giggles at Crowley's pained expression. 

A dozen other little things, little complaints, little comments, little comparisons to other adaptations Aziraphale had seen over the years and changes from the book that were either approved or not. 

A nice night, all-in-all, though decorations filled the hall and had caught Crowley's attention. Fake gifts beneath trees, in particular. Right. Season of giving. Of course there were presents, but did they really go under the tree now? It had been Germany, he was pretty sure, that used to put gifts in shoes. He'd stuck Krampus in somewhere around there and let it fester just so Hell would leave him be one year very early on, so wasn't quite sure anymore. It had been one of his last seasons anywhere near Europe except to sleep it away. 

It didn't matter anyway. Modern tradition apparently meant gifts went under trees. And they had a tree. He didn't think Aziraphale had ever had gifts under his, but this _was_ supposed to be different, wasn't it? He'd never had Crowley around either. But what on Earth would one get an angel? He could miracle anything he wanted and money wasn't at all a problem for them so he was always happy to buy whatever it was he didn't bother to miracle. His shop was packed to the gills so much even Crowley didn't know what _book_ he could ever get him and Aziraphale had been collecting so long, he probably had multiple first editions of the same books at this point. 

And he couldn't very well get him food. Couldn't wrap that up. And while he'd technically bought the tickets for their shows, that hadn't been a _surprise_ and that was the whole point of gift giving. All the wrappings and things were supposed to conceal the gift. 

It was still a question in the back of his mind when Aziraphale finally decided he'd left his shop closed long enough that month. It was too dull to be there during shop hours, so it was a good excuse to slip out and see what he could find. If anything. He could always plead ignorance if he didn't find anything and Aziraphale gave him one of those questioning looks, too polite to actually ask aloud. He'd always been the better liar between them, so it could work. 

It'd work if Aziraphale asked later what he'd done all day, Crowley hoped, gaze skimming shop windows as he strolled down the latest in a long line of shop laden streets he'd sauntered down that day. He hadn't fallen asleep behind the wheel or standing up to faceplant in snow - a very distant experience that still liked to embarrass him centuries later - and had the angel to thank for it. He wasn't going to. He might. He'd do it in his way. 

But he was quietly grateful for the sleek leather gloves and long black coat Aziraphale had snapped onto him as he'd left the bookshop. There had also been earmuffs, but Crowley had gotten rid of those right away with Aziraphale entirely unsurprised by it. Pleased, though, that he'd kept the rest. He would continue to keep it, at least for the season. How could he not? Aziraphale never miracled clothes, but he had. For him. 

So they stayed on, hands dipped into the coat pockets to keep them warm as he evaded other foot traffic. A big group had him scowling and shifting right into an open doorway. A trap of the holidays, leaving your doors open and welcoming. It was still somehow toasty warm inside which likely meant an unfortunate electric bill. Aziraphale might've thought to lessen it. Crowley did not. 

He scanned the open space since a worker called out a greeting, hands still in his pockets as he realized he'd stumbled into some sort of jewelers. An antique one, based on what he could see in some of the cases. Of course. He just wanted to make a quick show of wandering through to pretend like he hadn't come in by complete accident, positive nothing in there would yield results. 

Until he saw them. Cufflinks, he realized, barely glancing at what else was displayed. It was the wings that held his attention, as they did every year, but these didn't bring up a bubble of anxiety because he felt the confusing mix of melancholy and regret and hope and something he wasn't ready to name. It was because he wanted to buy them. 

Absolutely not. 

He paced away, paced back, left the store, paced in front of it twice more before quickly walking away. He circled the same block three times without stepping foot in another shop, then had some sort of panicky, wiggly spasm when he saw someone else go inside the jeweler's on the fourth go around. _Fuck_. Fuck, fuck, he had to buy them. Aziraphale was always fussing with his clothes, straightening them, fiddling with them. He'd worn the exact same cufflinks for a good century now, and there was absolutely no guarantee that he'd wear these or even _like_ them. But just the chance to see him fiddling with something Crowley had picked specially for him was worthwhile. Like asking Aziraphale to run away with him. No guarantee, but worth the try. Like this whole season: worth the try. 

He even buffed the cufflinks once he returned to his flat, a gentle miracle cleaning the tarnished gold and making them gleam like new. The delicate lines of the spread wings stood out even more, making his heart hammer even when he told it to settle back down. It took a lot to ignore the fact that each set of tiny wings was attached to a little heart of their own, so Crowley quickly shut the jewelry box and wrapped it with a snap before tucking it beneath their tree and _daring_ the pine to even think about finding him soft. He spent a solid hour tormenting the rest of his plants, going over every stem before he felt enough like himself to leave again. 

He almost even forgot about the horrible gift until they were next at his flat, Aziraphale left to wander the place while Crowley unloaded the bag of alcohol and spices they'd picked up for the angel to make his mulled wine. Maybe - please, somebody, please - he wouldn't even notice it and Crowley could tuck it away somewhere and never bring it out again. 

Somebody clearly wasn't listening however, or if they were, then they were still happily ignoring the demon's silent wishes. The gift had been noticed, it had to have been, because something else wrapped with pretty red paper and a big golden bow was tucked beneath the tree right beside it. All the space on the tartan tree skirt, and the second gift was nestled right next to the little box with its gift tag for "Angel." Since there was only the two of them in the flat, it went without saying that the second gift's tag had Crowley's name elegantly scrawled on it, as if great care had been taken for something as simple as a gift tag on a present.

But it was Crowley's first present on his first true Christmas celebration. Of course Aziraphale was going to take the time to write his name in his most embellished script. That went without saying.

Though Aziraphale had to take a moment when he saw that he wasn't the first to place a gift beneath the tree. That Crowley beat him to it - that Crowley bothered _at all_ \- hadn’t been something he’d prepared for. The angel thought he was growing accustomed to the changes their side was bringing, especially as of late, but this had his corporation running warm, flustered in a way only Crowley’s displays of kindness could make him.

He didn’t want to draw attention to it though, or make too much of a deal of it, lest he embarrass the demon enough to take back the gift. Even if it was a gag, a little bit of demonic mischief or a prank well-played, Aziraphale wanted to cherish the anticipation of having a gift from Crowley waiting for him to open on Christmas Day. He’d gone more than a millenia thinking this very thing would never happen.

Luckily, on the day he discovered it, he’d been able to excuse the ruddiness of his cheeks to the fire he’d started - for ambience, obviously - and the mulled wine. But he couldn’t quite hide the way his gaze would dart to the base of the tree whenever he was in the room, filled with as much contentment as it might’ve been possible for him to be while away from his books. And he might have looked a little too pleased with himself when two stockings were added to the fireplace mantel.

Which was, frankly, a welcome distraction for the demon. He hadn't expected Aziraphale to get _him_ anything and couldn't, for the life of him, imagine what it could possibly be. It terrified him. So he tipped his head towards the mantel and the two tartan stockings hanging from it and asked, "The hell are those for?" 

"They’re Christmas stockings," Aziraphale replied matter-of-factly, serenely sipping at his mulled wine. "On Christmas Eve, they’ll be filled with chocolates and oranges," because he expected them to be, "and it’s all rather delightful. Perhaps there’ll be a Christmas cracker this year as well."

"A what?" 

"It’s not an actual cracker, like one you would eat. It’s a… hm…" Aziraphale set his mug down, using his hands to help describe the shape. "It’s a little wrapped parcel that people pull on until it pops open and has little things inside. I believe paper crowns have something to do with it." His smile took on a teasing quirk. "They would certainly suit your throne decor."

"Probably." He was king of his domain and as unembarrassed by it as could be. "Crowns are still in Christmas, though? Really? That sounds like a Saturnalia thing, but I didn't think there'd be any more holdovers by now."

"Oh yes. It’s most definitely a tradition. Here in England, at any rate."

"Well, here's where it matters, I s'pose. This is where we are." It's where they'd each gravitated towards for thousands of years. How... unexpected to find something of Saturnalia - something of _his_ \- in this part of the world. Still. "So we're staying here Christmas Eve, then."

"Well, it is where our tree is." Aziraphale’s gaze trailed down from the tip of the star’s point on top, down each bough, to the two presents below. "Unless you’d prefer the bookshop?"

Crowley shrugged, hum rolling over his tongue. "Sometimes I do," he mused, "but you've created a little bit of a Christmas haven here."

" _We've_ created, my dear," Aziraphale corrected. "Don't sell your involvement short. You've been instrumental."

Once everything settled down again, maybe he'd believe that. He wanted to anyway. He glanced at their tree, very carefully _not_ looking at the two gifts, and nodded again as his gaze lingered on the little snake ornament they could see too easily from the loveseat. Perhaps he'd believe him now. "Alright, my angel, I helped some. It's the same point, though."

Aziraphale didn't argue that. "While I must say not much compares to my bookshop, you have helped make me feel at home here. I've been quite comfortable, and it is a lovely flat. I would like to spend the holiday here, with you, if you're amenable to that. I don't want to overstay my welcome or presume anything…"

Crowley started to reach out, hesitated, then finished the move anyway. His hand covered Aziraphale's over his mug. "I like you here. I think having you here Christmas morning would be..." Right, special, perfect. His tongue wouldn't form the words. "Nice."

The smile that lit up Aziraphale's face was more dazzling than any kind of Christmas light display. "Oh… Then I'll stay, yes."

It was difficult to lean away again when Aziraphale looked like that, Crowley unconsciously giving his hand the softest of caresses before he managed to pull away. "Good. Right. Ngk," he finished before he could fill the air with rambling agreement. 

"Good," Aziraphale echoed, voice and gaze unbearably soft as a tingling sort of sensation spread from his hand through his entire being. Such a gentle, barely there touch somehow contained more than Crowley could say. Smiling into his mug, Aziraphale savored the ghost of the not-so-casual caress the way he did the cinnamon and berries in his wine.

After all, a little could go such a long way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's curious about the timeline here, just know that the actual creation of Christmas and the traditions of Saturnalia are all very blended. History was very jumbled, lol. For one angel and one demon as well as for the poor authors doing their best to research it! lol
> 
> 274 - Roman emperor Aurelian declares Dec 25 is Sol Invictus's (Saturn's) birthday  
> C. 350 (dates vary) - Pope Julius I declares Jesus birthday as Dec 25  
> 537 - first suggests Arrangement aloud


	3. The Carnival & The Ornament

With a steaming cup of tea in hand, Aziraphale watched the wintery world outside from the window of his bookshop. The warm, golden glow spilled from the panes into the gray afternoon, inviting some curious souls in from the cold, but not enough to cause concern for his first editions. As Christmas Day steadily approached, people were scrambling to finish their holiday shopping at places other than antique bookshops. The surge of online shopping over recent years had also offered him a bit of a reprieve from those who were interested in purchasing a book or two for someone special during the holidays, so traffic hadn’t increased exponentially as it tended to in the past. It was for the best, really. Aziraphale was getting ready to turn his sign to ‘Closed’ after all, once the last two patrons saw fit to depart and get on with their evening. It was hardly four o’clock, but he had plans. 

He smiled to himself, barely suppressing a wiggle of delight as he hummed along to the record he had playing. That was one thing he did that other shops all took part in around this time of year, though much of his music was far older than what played on the radio these days. Though, if Crowley was going to be spending more time here in the future - and in future Decembers - then there was a chance his influence might change that. Said demon wasn’t currently in the shop, but Aziraphale was expecting to see the Bentley pull up right outside any moment now.

It was an unfamiliar feeling this time of year, and part of him was still quietly chiding himself for daring to hope for anything to be different this year. Except it had been different, so very different in so many wonderful ways and he wasn’t one who gravitated towards different. Not typically, not without a good deal of wheedling and whinging from both Crowley and himself, in favor and against changes respectively. 

He slowly surveyed his bookshop, taking in the decorations and thought of the lack of them in the flat upstairs, where a Christmas tree typically stood, laden with ornaments and twinkling lights. The woodsy scent of pine would permeate each room, even those that went unused. He’d always have a fire going, the music playing, garland and decorative trinkets on each and every surface. Cocoa, eggnog, spiced cider, and mulled wine stocked his kitchen, boxes from his favorite bakeries on the counter, never daring to go stale or mold - though most likely never given the chance to even if there were more than enough goodies to keep an entire family satisfied during the holidays, even if Aziraphale only had one other person in mind.

He always kept the bookshop and flat above bursting with the warm glow of Christmas, but he could never bear to be there for too long. He’d close the shop early, retire upstairs to settle in with a book and a record, only to put on his coat and scarf before he finished a single chapter. There was so much he loved about Christmas because he did it all. The markets, the shows, the church services, the volunteering. Anywhere people gathered, Aziraphale would thread himself into their throngs in a way he didn’t really feel the need to any other time of the year. 

One month out of each year honestly shouldn’t have made such an impression on him, and Aziraphale had chastised himself for it on numerous occasions. Christmas was for humanity; it was something that could unite them in worship and in good deeds and in love. Humans celebrated so many things and came up with all kinds of holidays to mark the passage of time in their short yet full lives. Aziraphale had no need for that. Time meant very little when one had centuries of it.

There were years where he’d tried to ignore it. The decorations would stay in their boxes and he’d resist the pull to venture out in search of the holiday goodies he’d come to look forward to. He wouldn’t linger at his windows to watch people laugh together or listen when carolers strolled the streets. The only thing he couldn’t ignore was the distant thrumming of love, like a heartbeat in his ears, that never failed to swell as soon as the season turned, growing stronger as the year came to a close.

His self-imposed exile never lasted, but he tried. Aziraphale didn’t know how Crowley could do it, but had admired the discipline it took. Or perhaps he’d really hated losing Saturnalia that much.

It was another reason Aziraphale could never truly ignore Christmas. Crowley had made it all possible, and even before he knew the reason behind why he’d done so well with it - why he’d done it at all - the angel could have sworn that he felt like some of it was for him. A silly, twitterpated feeling, perhaps, but one that encouraged him to go out and experience the holiday to the fullest. Even if it meant the absence of Crowley’s presence was more noticeable.

Over the hundreds of years of celebrating Christmas, Aziraphale had made peace with the fact that he simply wouldn’t spend it with Crowley. Well, until this year, that is.

Oh, he’d always quietly entertained forbidden little thoughts on what it would be like to indulge in the merriment of the season with Crowley. He wanted to see what the demon would think of it all and what he’d gravitate towards, but to actually experience it… there were moments where Aziraphale was struck into utter stillness by Crowley’s very presence. Hours could pass, late in the night whilst Crowley slept and left Aziraphale to putter about the flat to his heart’s content, where he could do nothing more than sit and try to process the simple yet overwhelming fact that they had a Christmas tree in Crowley’s lounge and they had Christmas plans. If he were one to sleep, he would have foolishly thought it to all be a dream. A flight of fancy born from their acclimation to their side and centuries of longing.

Part of Aziraphale wanted to stop everything so he could savor this month before it slipped through his grasp as the sands of time trickled through the hourglass several grains at a time. Yet another, fuller piece of him looked forward to each and every day, wanting to experience all of them as soon as possible. His corporation fluttered in anticipation, unable to even finish his tea as he caught sight of the Bentley rolling up the street. It had grown cold in his reminiscing either way, so he miracled the mug clean and away in the kitchen. The last customer was ushered out five minutes past four as Crowley slid out of the driver’s seat, donning his coat and gloves, much to Aziraphale’s delight.

They were to spend the evening perusing a Christmas market, and while it wasn’t snowing there was still something of a nip in the air. Aziraphale traded coats himself, leaving the door unlocked as he bundled up for Crowley to come in out of the cold. He wound a tartan scarf around his neck and tucked a soft, knit hat snugly atop his head. While he could easily miracle it so the chill didn’t bother him, there was something to be said for embracing the pleasure of warm, woolen clothes on a frosty night, especially when hot drinks were involved.

The bell chimed above the door. "I’ll be just a moment, my dear," he called out cheerfully, snapping the record to an easy stop.

It didn't stop Crowley from finding him, hands dipped into his coat pockets as he watched the angel fuss and fiddle. "You look like a knit marshmallow."

"Oh, how delightful. Marshmallows are scrummy." Aziraphale beamed at him, choosing to see the comment as the compliment it was trying not to be. "If we’re doing food comparisons, then I have to say you look like black licorice."

Crowley looked down at himself and shrugged. He liked black licorice. "These were your doing, so that's on you."

"Yes, but I based them after your own personal taste." Aziraphale grabbed his mittens and snapped off the lights before tugging them on. "So we could say it was a joint effort. After you," he hummed, holding the door open for him.

He stepped out and down the steps, but waited for Aziraphale so they could cross to the Bentley together as they'd done countless times before. "Have a good day or did you sell something?" 

"Not a single book," he sighed happily. "A rather successful day if I do say so myself, perhaps even deserving of staying closed tomorrow. I’ll have to consider it. How was your day, my dear? Any wiles I should be made aware of?"

"Nothing you should be aware of, no." Instead of walking straight around to his side, he held the passenger door open. "But it was alright."

Aziraphale made a pleased sound, one that might’ve been the kind made by a swooning protagonist in one of his Georgette Heyer books. He eased into the passenger seat, hands folded primly in his lap as he waited for Crowley to join him. As the car started, The Best of Queen floated out from the speakers as usual, a song that Aziraphale didn’t tend to protest about too much.

"Now, have you given any thought to which market we should go to? The one at Hyde Park is quite large, more of a carnival than a market. I’ve never been on any of the motorized attractions myself, but the food is exquisite and the decor very whimsical. There are also quieter markets, like at Leicester Square. Oh, they hang the most beautiful lights from the trees, like a canopy of starlight glistening just overhead. Whatever you’re in the mood for, my dear. I’ve been to them all."

Of course he had been. It was both pain and pleasure, imagining Aziraphale enjoying the holiday alone. His fingers flexed on the wheel before he let it go, waving a hand almost dismissively. "Hyde Park sounds alright. Curious to see what they do with it."

"Wonderful. It’s truly a remarkable transformation." Aziraphale sat back with a happy wiggle, only to brace his hand on the car door as they whipped around a corner.

It was impossible to miss the colorful lights as they drove closer, parking the Bentley a safe, but respectable distance from the gold gate, where the Luminaires illuminated the walking path in gleaming archways. Beyond them, the attractions flashed and carried the sound of people enthralled by the ups and downs of them through the air. Whimsy and joy enveloped the park as people flocked to the gates, the brightness in a darkening evening inviting them from the warmth of their homes. 

"The Christmas markets are interspersed with the more fun fair aspects, and there’s a nice one by the ice skating rink in the back. Shall we make a loop of the park and see what strikes our fancy?" Aziraphale asked as they strolled side by side, hardly a hair’s breadth apart, though the angel kept his hands clasped behind his back. It would be too tempting to touch the slant of Crowley’s elbow to guide him about otherwise, and that would just be too fast now, wouldn’t it?

Crowley looked down from the lit archways, lips quirking at the way the lights reflected their colors into the cream-colored fabric Aziraphale was bundled up in. "Sure, angel. Have they been doing all this a while?"

"This one in particular has only been in operation for the past… oh, decade or so?" Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully, the shorter periods of time always blurring together a bit. "I think just before we were employed at the Dowling Estate. I believe the nanny who watched young Warlock during your vacations would bring him on occasion. Once the rides were introduced."

"He probably liked those more than anything else." The boy had been spoiled rotten, no amount of Hellish influence required and not nearly enough Heavenly influence available. He'd always thought Aziraphale should've gotten a job _in_ the house. A cook, at least. Who bloody listened to a _gardener_? But his opinion on that hadn't been sought, Aziraphale barely on board in the beginning. "Thank Somebody that boy wasn't the Antichrist. I'd've taken you to Alpha Centauri, like it or not."

"Oh, Crowley. I’m sure it wouldn’t have come to that. The boy had his moments." Sometimes. "I do recall you informing me that he was perfectly normal on multiple check-ins. Unless you were lying?" He raised an eyebrow, but the teasing glint in his eyes was unmistakable even while the lights reflected in them.

"Perfectly normal and _decent_ are very different things, angel." Amused by him, Crowley let his smile warm a little. "Spoiled rotten is what he was."

Equally amused, Aziraphale had to look away with a shake to his head. "Can’t imagine how that happened. With you tending to him for most of the day." 

"My wild guess is that it had something to do with constantly being surrounded by servants and lenient parents. I was stricter than his mother. It was _awful_." He let his elbow brush Aziraphale's arm when he shrugged. "I'm telling you, we would've gone." Somehow, someway, he would've convinced him. 

Though he didn’t acknowledge the touch with a look or with words, Aziraphale did allow their shoulders to graze as they walked. The quiet thrill it sent through him might’ve been better suited to one of the motorized attractions, the jolt of excitement tingling under the surface of his corporation. 

"Well, everything happened as it should have. And I can’t think of a better ending to an attempted Apocalypse," he replied, lifting his chin, quite satisfied with the way things had turned out in the end. "It all worked out, I should say."

"It did. I get to do all this with you." Part of him, the more reckless parts of him, wanted to tuck an arm around the angel's waist or just take his hand. The way they were clasped behind him prevented both, so Crowley's own hands stayed in his pockets. "This month hasn't been bad, y'know. So far tonight the lights are nice, so I don't think this'll be terrible either."

"Such a remarkable vote of confidence." Aziraphale's lips curved up, gaze sliding to Crowley's. "But I am truly glad to have you join me this year, Crowley. It has meant so much to me- oh!" His eyes rounded as his hand shot forward to stop the demon, one cream colored mitten pressed firmly against the black wool of his coat while the other gestured to a stall to their left. "Oh, aebleskiver! Darling, have you ever tried them? They're tiny, Danish pancakes and they come with- oh, well I'll just show you. We _must_ get some."

He'd likely had one of everything the world had to offer thanks to his angel, but he certainly didn't _remember_ them all. He looked down at the hand on him, brow arching when he looked back up. "Sure. We'll give it a go."

Aziraphale beamed at him as if he hadn’t completely expected him to agree, then beckoned for him to follow as they veered away from the last of the illuminated archways and over to the path that would lead them through Santa Land and the Bavarian Village. There were plenty of stalls that would sell the little confectionary, but there was so much to see and try, Aziraphale already knew he’d get distracted in the whirlwind of it all. It was best to get them now while he was thinking of it.

There was a small line already there when they walked up, but the angel allowed for it as it gave him an opportunity to bless the stall with good customer experiences for the rest of the night. Not that he expected anyone to be in a sour mood when surrounded with such excitement and wonder, but there were always a few bad grapes in a bunch. This way it was better to be safe than sorry. The people that made everything at the event possible more than deserved a happy night themselves.

With a bright smile, he ordered one carton, but made sure to emphasize that it was to share, so they could each get a little stick to poke into the warm puffs of dough dusted with powdered sugar and topped with hazelnut spread. He ushered Crowley to the side, offering the little container of Danish pancakes for him to try first. He knew food didn’t excite the demon in the same way it did him, but it was more about sharing the experience that had Aziraphale eager to have him try. It also gave Crowley an opportunity to indulge him without being too obvious, part of the careful dance they’d spent six thousand years cultivating.

"Well, what do you think?"

It was sweet and Crowley was pretty sure he'd end up trying quite a few sugary things at a Christmas carnival. Especially with Aziraphale leading the way. "It's sweet, but it's pretty good. I like the hazelnut."

Aziraphale made a pleased sound, even before diving in to nab one for himself, making sure to get a good amount of the powdered sugar and spread. He covered his mouth with one mittened hand as he chewed, out of politeness more than to muffle more of the happy, little noises. They were even better than he remembered.

"Don’t fret, my dear. I won’t overwhelm you with too many sweets. There’s plenty of things to try. I’m sure we can find something to balance it all out," he told him, spearing another pancake with his little stick.

The holiday hadn't exactly been created with _balance_ in mind. Only Aziraphale, and it was so nice to see him enjoying it all for once. Crowley had even ventured out into London that day, just to see if he could handle it, and he _had_. The angel things he'd passed by in shops hadn't given him the buzz of melancholic panic it normally did. He hadn't thought of Aziraphale and missed him something terrible. He'd actually found himself smiling because Crowley had known he'd be seeing his angel soon. He didn't have to miss him this year. It had given him a bolt of confidence, putting him in a good enough mood that he was willing to push the boundaries in some small ways. Including subconscious ones. 

"S'fine, love. I'll try whatever catches your attention. Carnivals are made for sweets."

Aziraphale looked up from the treat. _Love_. He tried to blink, to say something in response to whatever it was Crowley had said after ‘love,’ but to be honest he hadn’t heard any of it. As he stared, he realized that the demon might not have even realized what he’d said, his hands back in his pockets as he scanned their surroundings, once a habit to ensure they weren’t being watched and now a way to experience something Aziraphale liked to do.

He must’ve been quiet for too long, with plenty of little pancakes still in his carton rather than in his mouth, because when Crowley looked at him again he had an eyebrow raised. Aziraphale popped another pancake between his lips to buy himself more time. _Love._ He was used to ‘angel,’ that had been Crowley’s go-to for thousands of years, almost more than his own name. Love was new.

It was new, but he didn’t mind it. "Right, yes. Well, there’s also quite the selection of alcohol as well. And hot beverages to warm us up while we walk." He nodded pointedly at a sign that proclaimed to have "proper coffee." "So there’s… there’s options." 

His eyes were entirely too blue, the pause giving Crowley some as well. He didn't allow the sunglasses to darken his vision indoors or when the sun went down, but he was tempted to nudge them down just in case he was missing something. But there was nothing he could see, nothing he could sense around them, that would make Aziraphale look at him as if he'd hung the moon right alongside the stars. Had he said something? 

It zipped through him like an electric current, making him go oddly still. _Oh_. He'd heard humans use it as a petname for ages, along with so many others in so many countries. He'd _started_ one of them, a fact as pleasing as it was embarrassing, but "angel" was one thing, "love" another. 

"Optionsss," he echoed, studying Aziraphale anew. It was different, brand new, but there was none of his dislike for newness. So it was okay for now and it just _worked_. He was as much Crowley's angel as he was his... Well. 

He'd have to use it again, test it when he was aware and could watch. Sometimes newness was met with confused curiosity before being rejected outright, so he'd let it simmer a bit. "You'll have to walk while you eat if we're going to see it all tonight."

"Of course. Obviously these were designed for eating and walking." Which he started to do, continuing to head for the perimeter of the park by way of Santa Land.

When they’d finished with the paper carton, Aziraphale miracled it clean of food residue and placed it in the recycling. Then with his hands freed again, he gently touched the crook of Crowley’s arm. If he was ready to call him "love," of all things, well, then maybe Aziraphale could do a bit more to catch up. Walking arm-in-arm at a winter carnival of sorts certainly wasn’t something they’d ever done as hereditary enemies.

Crowley didn't quite know how to react to it, something lodging in his throat when he realized the soft touch wasn't just a tap for his attention. It lingered in quiet question and of course the answer was never going to be no. Knowing how to say yes was a bit trickier, so he didn't. He silently leaned into it, arm bending a bit more in invitation, and hoped for the best. 

Aziraphale smiled at him, fully securing his arm about Crowley’s and tucked him close. Warmth radiated through him that had nothing to do with the temperature, the kind of golden glow he’d come to associate with Crowley. He didn’t comment on it though, allowing the demon that, and instead pointed out decorations and attractions to him, coupled with stories on what it had been like in years past.

"Have you ever been on one of these mechanized attractions?" He craned his neck back as he took in the towering rainbow lights of the ferris wheel. "At other funfairs?"

"A few. I like the semi-permanent amusement parks." Because there really was no such thing as permanence when it came to humanity and the things they built. "The engineers can be bolder and they all like to brag about being the fastest or longest or whatever."

"Ah, yes. Hubris," Aziraphale hummed in understanding. "Well, humans have always been a rather competitive sort. Even here, they’re constantly trying to outdo themselves from previous years. Always adding something new. Though I suppose it’s to be expected, humans are always evolving."

"And they get bored easily." He could empathize with that, at least. "Have you ever even been on a ferris wheel?" 

"Oh, no. Well, not since they were turned with handcranks and made of wood. Seventeenth century, I believe. I tried it once out of curiosity, but it wasn’t very stable. And certainly nothing like this."

"Right." It wasn't surprising, but it was a chance to insert something he already liked into a season he was entirely unfamiliar with. Crowley laid his hand on Aziraphale's arm and steered him towards the line. "Come on, angel."

"What? Now?" Aziraphale’s gaze darted between the wheel and Crowley’s face, something like alarm flickering across his features, but he made no attempt to stop him or get away. "Crowley, you can’t be serious."

"It's barely a ride," Crowley assured him, smile a little closer to a smirk. "You'll like it."

"I don’t know about that." He eyed the wheel warily as they stopped in the line. 

There were some families with children, and compared to some of the other rides hoisting people into the air, it did seem rather tame. There were also a considerable amount of couples, arm-in-arm like he and Crowley or holding hands as they whispered together and giggled at private little jokes they shared. His control slipped and his heart beat a little faster, a blush rising to his cheeks as he realized the two of them looked no different from the humans’ perspectives.

Well, it was still the energy he liked to surround himself with at this time of year. And it was only fair to Crowley, who’d been so gracious about being dragged along through all of his holiday traditions, that he try something new. Didn’t mean he couldn’t still huff and send the demon suspicious looks.

"Fine. I suppose one loop around couldn’t hurt."

"You've _flown_ higher than this, angel," Crowley pointed out, nothing short of amused. It would take them around at least three times. "You'll be fine. There's a reason these things are still everywhere. You'll be able to see the majority of the park, all the lights and things." And they'd have a carriage to themselves, no miracles required. It was just how these things were operated, especially when the lines were as short as this.

Crowley's own heart gave an abrupt, unsteady lurch, his interest in just getting Aziraphale on _any_ ride overruling the knowledge that this was very much a couples thing to do. All alone, side by side while the world slowly swung by. Between the stars overhead and the glittering Christmas lights below, it would very likely be _romantic_. He wasn't going to say it aloud, though, not in any way. He'd see if the angel came to that realization or if he just stubbornly hated it the whole way through. He wasn't sure which would be worse, really. 

His worries were for naught, however, as Aziraphale warmed up to the little gondolas by the time they were next in line. He could see happy couples snuggling in their seats, filled with the same tender pleasure at seeing humanity connect on such intimate levels. The children who pointed out their glass capsules at the world below them inspired a similar delight.

He was practically wiggling as he settled in his seat beside Crowley, palms rubbing at his thighs as he smiled at him. "Well, perhaps it isn’t so bad," he acquiesced when the demon looked at him. "It’s actually quite roomy. Although…" A quick miracle took care of any of the smudged handprints on the glass around them, nothing impeding their view. "That’s better."

As the door shut, he did start a bit, one hand shifting from his thigh to Crowley’s when the gondola began to move. While he wasn’t afraid of heights - that would be utterly absurd and ridiculous, an angel afraid of heights - flying via his wings or via airplane was a completely different experience than dangling in the air courtesy of a giant wheel. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was certainly unlike anything else he’d done.

And only seconds into it, they stopped. "Oh. Oh, what’s wrong with it?" He peered down at the carriage below them. "Wait, I see. It’s letting on other people behind us. That’s why we’ve stopped."

"It'll stop a few times, then linger a bit when we're at the top. It's all part of its charm." He laid a hand over the one on his leg. Only his angel would have the same reaction a small child might despite all the experience and intelligence in him. "The most exciting thing that should happen is we'll sway a bit."

"That _does_ sound exciting." Aziraphale seemed to catch the look in the demon's eyes even through the sunglasses. "Ah, wait. That's you being sarcastic again, isn't it?" 

"Bit," he dryly replied. "The bigger ones like this actually move less than the more intimate ones."

More intimate? Aziraphale surveyed the glass carriage, considering the enclosed space to already be quite intimate. They were already pressed close to one another, hands not only touching, but with just the slightest nudge, Aziraphale had the toe of his shoe up against Crowley’s. Any more intimate and the angel was certain they’d both be sputtering messes. Well, at least Crowley would be, which would in turn make Aziraphale nervous which would make Crowley even more nervous and it was just a vicious cycle. No, the level of intimacy in this Ferris wheel was perfectly adequate for them at this point on their side. He really didn’t know what else to call it.

They started to move again, but this time Aziraphale was prepared for it as he gazed out the window, watching the colorful world of lights grow smaller beneath them.

Sputtering messes or not, Crowley had had a very good day. He used it to carefully wrap his fingers around Aziraphale's mittened hand. It had to be alright if the angel was linking their arms as if they were any other couple. Crowley wasn't even sure if they _were_ a couple, technically. It was such a human concept, labels and all, and if what they'd been doing that month counted as dates, then they'd been dating for millenia. No, no, since the forties. Something, though he'd never figured out what, had changed after the church. It had been encouraging until, ooh, 1966? '67? Whatever year Aziraphale had given him a thermos of holy water and had said he was too fast. 

Nothing had ever thrown him off balance quite like that, before or since, and he still didn't quite know what he'd done. He didn't ask, though, even though he knew Aziraphale would put them three steps back if the hand-holding was too much. In his way of thinking, in telling Aziraphale that he'd planted love into the holiday he'd made for and arguably about him, he'd laid out his case entirely and it was up to the angel to sort through it all. 

As they crested the top, coming to another gentle stop, Crowley hoped the judgment would be favorable. He'd hold every single moment close, whatever the outcome, as much as he ached to hold the angel himself. For now, he settled for his hand and allowed a relieved quirk of the lips when he didn't pull away. Soft gesture for a soft ride. 

"S'a beautiful view, actually, with the whole park twinkling away."

"Yes, it is rather," Aziraphale agreed, pulling his attention away from the view beyond the glass to the one inside it. His gaze lingered on the gentle curve of Crowley's mouth before flicking up to see the colors dancing in dark lenses. "Beautiful from all angles, really."

It was an obvious line, but it was also from Aziraphale directed at him so Crowley wasn't nearly as certain as he'd like to be. Besides, Crowley was one hundred percent positive that his angel didn't actually know _how_ to flirt. _Flirt_ , good- good somebody. The word alone made him itchy.

He was at least grateful for the glasses since they hid how wide his eyes had gotten. Though they couldn't hide the bob of his Adam's apple when he swallowed or the way his fingers flexed over the angel's mitten. "You should have two more go-arounds to really make sure of that."

"An excellent point, my dear." Aziraphale glanced down at their hands, still against Crowley's thigh, feeling the twitchiness of the movement. 

Perhaps it was too much, maybe Crowley wanted him to let go. But if the demon didn't want his hand there, then surely he would make the effort to remove himself from the situation. He wouldn't be holding his hand there. 

"I find I don't mind this contraption as much as I thought. I wouldn't be averse to two more go-arounds, as you put it."

Crowley settled a little as it became clear that Aziraphale really wasn't going to pull away. This could be okay. It could possibly even be _normal_. "Told you you'd like it. Second rotation shouldn't actually stop, then the third they'll start letting people off so it'll be more like this again."

Aziraphale sighed, pretending to be much more affronted than he actually was, but failed when he couldn't quite contain the way he wanted to smile at him. Very carefully, he shifted his hand, twisting his wrist in the slightest of increments so he could grasp Crowley's gloved hand back. They fit together well, Aziraphale reflected as he gave the slightest squeeze. Crowley must have thought to keep himself warm this night, no risk of falling asleep at the Christmas market, because he could feel the heat radiating between his thigh and his palm. Any chill from the wintery world outside was forgotten in their capsule. 

Snowflakes flurried past the glass, distracting Aziraphale away from Crowley's face. "Oh," he breathed. "It's snowing."

Crowley peered out. He didn't usually bother with weather reports, but Aziraphale had cheerfully told him the weather would be clear. Apparently that made it perfect for a visit to a Christmas market. But he rather liked watching the snowflakes drift about, as gentle as the ferris wheel they rode and as sweet as the hand holding his. "Seems like a nice night for it."

"It does, doesn't it?" Aziraphale smiled softly as he watched them, his essence fluttering with the same light and airy feeling he imagined the flurries themselves would feel, if capable of such things. 

They were fleeting, hardly cold enough for them to stick once they reached the ground, but they were lovely in the moment they could steal for themselves, a feeling both angel and demon could empathize with over their six thousand year acquaintance turned friendship turned… whatever they wished to call it. Their side suited well enough, partners or companions not quite able to convey the depth and longevity of their relationship that spanned all of Earth's existence. But what they had now, unlike their past dalliances and the snow, would hopefully stick and stay for as long as the Earth continued turning. Perhaps it would put down roots and grow, finally, into what it had always meant to be.

Aziraphale left his hand in Crowley's for the rest of the ride, even as they disembarked upon returning to the ground. "Alright, I will say that was rather fun. I'll give you that, Crowley. But don't think that means I'll be trying something like that." He pointed to a ride that seemed to be flipping its passengers completely upside down as it turned round and round. Not like the Ferris wheel at all. 

Crowley laughed. "No, angel, I won't force you on that. But p'rhaps next time I feel like riding the London Eye, you'll come with me?" 

"Perhaps." Aziraphale hid his smirk by looking one way, then the other, reorienting himself in relation to the rest of the fair. "What would you say to getting something to drink over in the Bavarian Village?" 

"It sounds like they'd have something alcoholic, so I'd say alright." Though they didn't make it far before his attention was caught by an odd house, unusual by being at a carnival at all and by being upside-down. "The hell's that about?" 

Aziraphale frowned as he surveyed it. "I'm not entirely sure. I don't believe this was here last year." Or any other year prior, for that matter. He squinted suspiciously at the sign for the attraction, letting go of Crowley's hand only to get closer so he could inspect it. "Ah, I see." Pleased with his findings, he gestured for the demon to join him. "I've figured it out. You see, I've looked at this house. It's not a proper one at all. Apparently it's a vehicle for socializing with the media." He pointed to the icons for Twitter and Instagram printed on the sign. 

Crowley's brows lifted. "Of course it's not a proper bleeding house, angel. It's upside-down, innit?" He offered his hand, angling his head towards the entrance. "Let's have a look."

"Alright, I would like to see what it's all about. And what it has to do with the holidays." Aziraphale took his hand, ignoring Crowley's tone in favor of maintaining his pleased air of discovery.

The interior of the house followed the theme of the exterior, entirely flipped upside down. The furniture was on the ceiling and the light fixtures at their feet. A few humans were in there with them, posing in front of a bed with festive tartan sheets somehow sticking to the bed without a crease in the fabric or a fold out of place.

It was like a quaint little cottage, only turned on its head, exactly as the name implied. "Well, isn't this creative."

It was familiar enough for Crowley, who could and had walked along the walls and high ceilings of his flat several times. He'd been forbidden from doing the same in the bookshop after an amusing afternoon in the early 1800s wherein a handful of unfortunate humans had been... startled. "It fits a carnival."

"It's a bit disorienting though. Is this how it feels when you take naps on the ceiling, my dear?" Aziraphale's musings held a touch of amusement, though the ban on the bookshop still stood, no matter how endearing the demon was. 

"A bit." Though he was glad his flat didn't look a thing like this, even with Aziraphale's fresh touches of influence. "Stairs are off, though. I don't s'pose a human would be able to go up them if they were right."

"No, I don't suppose they would." Aziraphale watched a human grab the bed post and pretend to look surprised while their friend took a picture. "What are they doing?" 

Crowley smirked. "Interacting with social media."

Aziraphale frowned. "Now you're just making fun, aren't you? What sort of fool do you take me for? Honestly, Crowley." There was obviously no real media presence. A picture with a telephone didn't strike him as very sociable either, not when there was only one person in the picture.

"They're websites, angel. Humans upload their photographs or add words to existing images so others can see them." It would take more patience than he imagined he'd ever have to explain the intricacies of each, so he gave the most basic explanation he could think of. "The goal is to get as many people to see them as possible."

Aziraphale examined the fringes of a floor lamp's shade. "Ah, I see. Because the absurdity of the situation in humans being upside down would attract attention. Perhaps there is something to your theory."

"One day, I'm going to show you Twitter just to annoy you," he decided, but gave him a little tug to head back the way they'd come. "Come on, angel."

"We might as well see the rest of the house, my dear. We've made it this far."

He gave in easily, though he was used to the world from this angle. Watching humans play about was a new concept, at least. "Alright. I wonder what hashtag they're all using," he wondered, more as a tease for his technologically challenged angel than out of actual curiosity. 

"What is that? Some kind of chopped up dish? Made from meat or potatoes?" Aziraphale asked, thinking more along the lines of corned beef hash. Or hash browns.

"No." Always food with him. "It's a symbol, part of an... internet filing system of sorts on certain websites."

Aziraphale looked skeptical, but accepted it with little reluctance on his part. "Perhaps we should take a photograph with your mobile telephone, and add it to the internet filing system." It didn't sound real to him, but he was willing to see what it was about in case Crowley wasn't having him on.

Curious, Crowley arched a brow. "Would you actually let me?" 

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow right back. "Why wouldn't I? Is it a particularly painful process?" 

"Course not." But it was another thing that would've been unthinkable just a few months before, not that Aziraphale was a stranger on his camera roll. But the two of them together on purpose? Never. "It's just... Y'know, a bit new. Public." He paused, considering. "Permanent."

"Oh. Well," Aziraphale faltered, his fingers tensing against Crowley's. "I wouldn't want to… overstep. Pressure you into something you're not comfortable with. Nevermind. It was a silly idea. Forget I even suggested it."

"Angel, I never said I wasn't comfortable with it. I only want to be sure _you_ know." Crowley frowned at him, a little surprised that Aziraphale was worried about pressuring _him_. "I'd like to. If you do. Just- D'you wanna pick a spot with a bit more Christmas in it?" 

Aziraphale looked away, gaze darting back after barely a second's thought. "I- er… That would be preferable, I suppose. Might have a little more meaning than an upside-down house."

"Right." Crowley carefully squeezed his hand. "First Christmas together and all."

"Exactly. A photograph would be an excellent way to commemorate the holiday." Aziraphale's smile was a shade nervous as he squeezed back, then made a calming gesture with his free hand. "Right, well then, we'll keep an eye out for a good location. For the picture. Yes." Privately, he decided to see about getting a physical copy of the photograph for him to keep outside of the internet.

Crowley didn't let go of his hand, but gave in to a far more normal habit of orbiting him. He went in front, head tilted a little as he studied his familiar features. "Are _you_ feeling pressured? By any of... Y'know, this."

Aziraphale's eyes widened. "No," he said emphatically. "Of course not. This was all my idea, after all." But he appreciated the return to normalcy, the natural swaying motion of the demon taking him back to plenty of clandestine meetings past. "I think, maybe, it's all just a bit different. Still taking some getting used to. But it's not a bad thing, my dear."

Crowley bobbed a little, deciding to take Aziraphale at his word. He hadn't yet pulled away from him, after all. They were both trying. But how, he wanted to ask, would he know when Aziraphale was used to this? When he was ready for another step forward? As well as he knew his angel, this was new territory. For both of them. "Yeah. Definitely not a bad thing."

"Oh. Good." Aziraphale firmed up his grasp, his gaze following the still gentle weaving motion of Crowley's body. His coat had shifted a bit somewhere in his decision to orbit him, the top of the neck a little wider than it should have been. A little crooked. Aziraphale smiled, sweet and soft, as he reached out to adjust his lapel and smooth out the creases. Polished and sleek was the look his demon liked to go for. "I am having a wonderful time, darling. Best I've had in ages."

Crowley smiled, entirely too fond but not quite willing to temper it. "So'm I, come to think of it."

It still felt a little too good to be true, but Aziraphale let the contentment rule and carry him through the rest of the house. Hand in hand, they drifted between the people taking more pictures with the hearth of the lounge room and with the fridge in the kitchen. Everyone was having fun, all throughout the Winter Wonderland and it seeped into every crevice.

The snow was still falling lightly as they stepped outside, the flakes melting against their cheeks. The cozy, picturesque world of the Bavarian Village beckoned them, bars cropping up with a variety of beers and ciders on tap. Aziraphale nudged Crowley as they walked past them, his free hand cupping the crook of his arm. While they tended more towards wine, they didn't completely write off other types of alcohol, obviously, though if it wasn't wine, it was usually some kind of hard liquor.

"Or we could find some mulled wine somewhere, if you'd prefer."

"Won't be as good as yours," was the easy dismissal. "Cider'd do the trick."

A pleased flush colored the angel's cheeks. "Oh, well, I'm not sure about that, but cider does sound rather scrummy right about now."

They slipped into the short line, Crowley ordering for them both, and passing over a miracled bill. The change of which ended up dropped into their tip jar if only to make Aziraphale wiggle happily against his side. 

Their hands finally broke contact while they let the alcohol warm their corporations, though they stayed close. Crowley was able to satisfy his habitual need to circle Aziraphale as he looked at the stalls they passed and listened to the cheerful sounds of laughter and chatter about them.

Where Aziraphale could feel the love behind it all, Crowley could feel something different. Stress from young children who were up too late to see the sights and rides or couples on their last legs or just the overworked who were picking pleasure over bills and felt guilty over it. He was used to feeling the negatives in the world, so it was only odd that he felt them so distantly. Something layered over it all, thicker than a blanket of snow, and part of Crowley almost recognized it. It had started as his own, after all, but he couldn't think too deeply on it. 

He did know he enjoyed it. It was freeing in some way, to know he could, almost as much as finding his hand back in his angel's once their drinks were empty. He let Aziraphale lead the way along the paths, each of them seeing something unique in each booth they passed, sharing and comparing opinions on them with the same ease they'd once compared notes within the Arrangement without any of the clandestine nature of the meetings. The bright lights and feelings in the air and between them left no room for closed doors and whispers. 

It did leave room for him to relax into himself and roll his eyes at some of what they passed. "A haunted house," he'd complained, and in they'd gone.

"You did say you’re a big spooky fan."

"This isn't what I'd call 'spooky,' angel."

"If you don’t call bones floating in a font of blood ‘spooky,’ then I’m not sure I want to know your definition."

It had made him laugh and his angel giggle despite himself, so it wasn't a total loss in Crowley's books. Just embarrassingly misplaced in a Christmas carnival. 

Like the rigged carnival games they'd walked by, Aziraphale teasing, "Oh, Crowley, I must win you an enormous doughnut hat."

"If you win that, I will burn it."

He wouldn't, but the threat had earned him huffy looks that barely hid the mirth in blue eyes.

Though everything in Crowley stalled a bit when they approached the decorative archway and its label of "Angel's Christmas Market." Of course. He'd handled quite a few decorations earlier in the day, but it was almost embarrassing that every angelic reference reflected right back to Aziraphale and now he _knew_ it. It was almost worse than the panicked melancholy that drove him into hibernation each holiday season. 

"That's really what it's called, then?" 

"Oh yes! It is truly one of the loveliest, traditional Christmas markets in the city," Aziraphale gushed, still giddy from their antics at the carnival games and the alcohol warming his corporation through, not to mention the promise of… "Oh, my favorite crêpe stand is around here somewhere… I might have to partake while we do a bit of browsing." He grinned at Crowley, bumping elbows with his wiggle. 

It was so hard to stay unhappily embarrassed when Aziraphale was so purely, sweetly happy. All indulgence, he forced his shoulders to relax and returned the smile. "We both know there isn't a _might_."

Aziraphale's smile brightened. "Oh, really?" His lashes fluttered, pleased to see his disquiet fade. They'd been having too lovely a time for it to sputter to a halt just because he was a little embarrassed over the name of the market. "The little wooden chalets are quite charming, my dear. I think you'll enjoy them. Oh, and there's a place where we can get some popcorn as well."

"Oh?" he said as if he hadn't been taking a look at every person who'd walked by him with a container of it. 

Aziraphale gave him a knowing look, then ushered him beyond the sign post for the market. Their first stop then, would be the popcorn. Aziraphale paid for it by pretending to pluck a few pounds from behind Crowley's ear, grinning as he handed them over to the vendor.

"You're an embarrassment," he groaned, in too good a mood for any real heat in it. 

"And you're a scrooge. It's Christmas. Take your popcorn." Aziraphale handed him the carton.

"Bah humbug," he teased, gloves gone so he could toss a piece into his mouth, a little pleased with himself. At the beginning of the month, he wouldn't have understood the reference. "Want some?"

"Oh, well if you insist." Removing his own mittens, Aziraphale happily picked off a kernel from the top and popped it into his mouth. "That is quite good."

"Yeah. Carnivals and theaters always do it the right way. Where are your crêpes?"

Aziraphale led him to the stall, hardly able to contain himself as he skimmed the menu. Savory or sweet, it was almost impossible to decide. The lovely ladies who ran the stand - and had for the past several years - offered him suggestions when probed, the angel always eager for their professional opinion. He went for the best of both worlds, ordering a Monte Cristo crêpe, stuffed with ham, chicken, and brie, dusted with powdered sugar and a raspberry drizzle.

It came packaged in a clever little triangular box, easy for transport as they walked. It meant relinquishing Crowley's hand while he ate, but the amused glances they shared were enough, their elbows still brushing as they went. At the first forkful, Aziraphale let the most pleased of sounds slip from him, eyes closing in contentment as the flavors mingled, hitting all the right notes on his tongue.

"Oh, it's _scrumptious_." He took two more bites before offering his fork to Crowley, holding it out to him with the bite of ham, cheese, and chicken already speared by the tines. "Would you like some?" 

"May as well." Because he didn't want his fingers to have butter and salt on them, they didn't as he cupped Aziraphale's elbow. It was more because he could than to keep his hand steady as he leaned in and sampled. The tartness of the raspberry somehow merged well with the savory meat and cheese, making him hum. "It's not bad."

Aziraphale beamed adoringly at him, gaze completely taken in by every facet of his face. The way his lips pursed as if to consider more of the flavor that lingered on them, the creases of his eyebrows, ever expressive as they bunched and arched, and the glittering, golden lights sparkling in the reflective lenses. He didn't want to forget this moment. His essence thrummed, heart lurching as he suddenly yearned for this all the time. He didn't want it to slip away like so many moments shared between them. All their opportunities stolen by duty or fear. 

Aziraphale didn't want to spend another holiday - another _day_ , if he was feeling particularly honest - without the demon by his side. No matter how infuriating or incorrigible he could be, Aziraphale knew he couldn't go back to how things were before. He didn't think he could bear it, not now knowing what their side was like. He didn't want to walk through another Christmas market alone. Not when he could walk it with Crowley.

He'd had a taste, and now he wanted more. "Yes," he breathed, breath clouding when he forgot to mind it. "Yes, I thought you might like it." He took another bite, savoring it and the moment. 

Crowley smiled at him. He'd been doing it so much, but couldn't find a reason to stop. It all just felt special somehow. They didn't make it far down the market's line of booths before his attention was grabbed by the unexpected sound of power tools. He looked over, pausing when he saw a hunk of wood on a pedestal slowly transforming into something else. 

Still wrapped up in his emptying carton, Aziraphale missed the pause so made to continue on. And Crowley, not wanting to take hold of his elbow or hand lest he jostle him too badly, found himself tucking an arm around him as he'd wanted to do at the start of their evening. A hand at the angel's hip, he guided them both to a stop out of the way of foot traffic but close to a small group who were also intrigued by the wood carver. 

"They can be so clever with their art," he explained. 

Aziraphale looked to and from the woodcarving display, delight never fading as he chewed. Once or twice his glance slipped to the hand resting against him, trying to contain the urge to wiggle lest he dislodge it. 

"Oh yes. Quite astonishing what they're able to conceive and create from something so simple," he agreed, gaze carefully cataloging Crowley's interest. "You know they have an ice sculpture exhibit, towards the front. If you wanted to have a look on our way out."

"Ice sculptures, really?" He'd seen videos, but was never in anyplace wintry enough to seek them out in person. He hadn't considered they'd have an entire exhibit, the simple idea making him smile and give Aziraphale a soft squeeze. "I'd like to, yeah."

"Then we'll stop there on our way out," Aziraphale decided, then leaned in to watch the woodcarver at work. 

The shape of a bear's snout was beginning to take shape, its eyes already intricately set in its squared off head. As curls of wood fell away, the texture of what was its fur was made clear with the artist's stylistic choices. Aziraphale quietly made sure the young man would have a peaceful, plentiful holiday, and relieved a bit of stress so he could focus a little more on his craft.

"It looks very good!" he called out sincerely, receiving a grateful nod as he continued to work.

Crowley laughed, soft and small. He'd felt the swell of a Heavenly miracle and could only imagine what had been done. It was nice to be holding onto him while he did so, as cheerful a marshmallow as he was, and know it was welcome. "Enjoying some good deeds, angel?" 

"No rest for the good," Aziraphale giggled, Crowley's genuine cheer and laughter infectious, as it always was. "'Tis the season, my dear." 

He stole another kernel of popcorn, enjoying the show until he sensed Crowley was ready to move on, able to feel every shift when pressed this close to him. Beside the woodcarver's station were a selection of handmade ornaments, some just as intricately carved as the large statue being worked on. Aziraphale tapped Crowley's side and pointed. 

"I haven't got an ornament for this year yet. Let's take a look."

"Bloody tree's gonna unroot itself out of embarrassment," he muttered, but let his hand fall away from the angel's side so they could weave around the little crowd an angel’s miracle could accidentally attract. "Have an idea of what you want?" 

"Not quite. Usually I just happen upon them and it feels like the right choice." Aziraphale scanned the displays, appreciating the craftsmanship of the little trinkets. "But something to commemorate our first Christmas together, I should think."

Quietly pleased with the idea, Crowley munched his popcorn and wandered behind Aziraphale in half-circles. "Nothing too ridiculous, then."

"Oh, but I was considering a couple of jolly old elves as an appropriate decoration." Aziraphale glanced at him, his eyes twinkling playfully, pointing to a pair of red and green smiling elves holding candy canes. "No? Not your style?" 

Crowley fixed him with his blandest, most unimpressed look. "Wouldn't even be willing to call it yours. Close, though."

Aziraphale shrugged lightly, polishing off the rest of his crêpe, then miracling the garbage clean and recycled. With his hands free, he was able to pick up and examine ornaments with care. His attention was caught by a selection that were specifically designed for "our first Christmas" and he examined them a bit closer. A pair of turtledoves nestled in a wreath caught his eye, his smile brightening as he held them up to the light. Where the one on the left had originally been white, it was now a glossy black with a golden beak lightly touching the silver of the white on the right. That was better.

"What do you think of this?" 

He thought it wasn't very subtle, but it was as sweet as their entire night had been. The month, really, so what could be better? Crowley let his empty popcorn carton follow Aziraphale's recycling and gave him a smile that was softer than it had any right to be. "It'll do, love."

A blush rose to the angel's cheeks as he beamed at him, cradling the ornament as carefully as one could. "Oh good. I thought so." 

Aziraphale beckoned for the vendor's attention, the slight change to the aesthetic of the trinket went unnoticed as he paid for it. When it was returned to them, it was carefully wrapped and tucked in a paper bag. Aziraphale slipped it into his pocket with his mittens, then reached for Crowley's hand without a second thought. Their bare fingers brushed and Aziraphale stilled for a moment, glancing down between them, then committed to holding on.

He glanced at him through his lashes. "Thank you, dearest. It should look nice on our tree. An excellent addition."

"It's a good souvenir," he agreed, memorizing the way Aziraphale's hand felt in his. The way blue eyes sparkled more like diamonds. "You might want to turn down the radiance a bit, angel. You'll start glowing in a minute."

"I'm afraid I can't quite help it, Crowley," he replied honestly. "We might just have to chalk it up to a Christmas miracle, if it comes to it."

"Probably won't. I'll annoy you again soon enough."

Aziraphale tutted and cast him a side glance, but his heavenly glow didn't diminish as he squeezed his hand. "Oh, there's not a doubt in my mind that you will."

He grinned. "If I wasn't a demon, that sort of certainty would probably be an insult."

"Good thing you are a demon, then." 

A demon - _the_ demon - responsible for the entire holiday to begin with. Who made it all for him. This night could not have been more perfect if Aziraphale had hundreds of times to do it over. Even with their fumbling on occasion, it was time spent together and experiences shared the way they were meant to. 

Aziraphale tugged him along, grip as sure and strong as he'd longed for it to be for so long. "Come, my dear. There are a few more stalls to look at, then we still need to take that picture, oh, and the ice sculptures!" 

Their hands remained linked while Aziraphale prattled on, and the glow stayed for as long as Crowley's indulgent smile curved his lips. So for the rest of the night at Hyde Park's Winter Wonderland, the patrons could have sworn they felt a hopeful, happy presence throughout the park. And if all the patrons who attended that night somehow had miraculously wonderful, blessed Christmases, well, that just must have been a bit of divine luck.

For once, an angel had someone to walk with at Christmas, and that gratefulness spread to every house and home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, yes. Hubris.
> 
> That's the best line in this fic, sorry we don't make the rules.
> 
> Also, forgive us, we're Americans and have never been to Hyde Park's Winter Wonderland, but watched many walk throughs to try and capture the energy of the environment. If we've made it seem more magical than it really is, well, let's just chalk it up to an angel's delight spilling into everything and making it extra magical, lol.
> 
> [Here's a link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qM33xWf960k&t=1038s) to a walk through that we watched if you're interested in seeing what it looks like for yourself!  
> 


	4. The Garden & The Gifts

The big band performance was their only night with mixed results that month, the concert often featuring things that only one of them enjoyed at a time. After the first cacophonous song was very politely described as "interesting," Crowley had chuckled and offered an out. They didn't have to stay, after all, and it wasn't as if he knew the songs being played. He had enjoyed the sound, though, and the way it brought back smoky bars and illegal alcohol in cracked glass. The tension had been as intoxicating as the liquor, courtesy of humans with nerves high over the risks of being caught in an illegal speakeasy. 

None of it was in the air at the Royal Albert Hall, though, decades of familiarity tempering the musical style. The only being who didn't consider it to be classic by this point was the angel, firmly insisting that they stay so Crowley could enjoy himself.

And it wasn't as though Aziraphale hadn't enjoyed bits of it, though Crowley had been far less fond of the guest singers than the angel. The lyrics seemed to change the way they played in a way they wouldn't have when the music was fresh and new. Crowley had leaned over to him, their hands clasped comfortably as holding hands became more and more commonplace for them, and teased him over only liking the boring bits and being teased right back for only enjoying the wild pieces. 

But he'd also told Aziraphale what he remembered, why he liked it, and what he could tell just by watching their expressions about who was going to be doing a solo next. He could also tell who was nervous, though when he told Aziraphale, he felt an easy swell of a miracle. It made Crowley smile every time. It was different, being on a side which left his angel free to truly make the world he loved better. He'd gotten so used to the pout formed everytime Aziraphale looked at him and complained about not being able to perform "frivolous miracles" that he had to stop himself once from commenting on the number of miracles in concern. 

So it was a mixed night, but still a good one. They were together and Aziraphale had learned about soft jazz, an acceptable addition to his shelves of records. Not a total loss at all and Crowley had every intention of slowly acclimating his angel to more jazz. He could probably get him up to the 1920s in another century or so, but they had all the time in the world for that. 

_The Nutcracker_ on the twenty-third had better results. Crowley had enjoyed the music as well as the battle against the rat king. He'd mostly enjoyed watching Aziraphale's face during moments clearly intended to be romantic, feeling the way his grip would shift and tighten on his hand. It was precious and had made Crowley think that maybe, just maybe, Aziraphale was ready for a little speed. Not much, he didn't want to overwhelm them and end up a few steps back, but that flutter of hope was still there. 

Maybe, being that he'd created Christmas and left it to flourish to such majestic heights, he could get a Christmas miracle of his own. Another one, being that holding hands or linking arms as they walked had become a Thing as normal as Crowley's careful orbiting, something the angel never acknowledged aloud, but seemed content enough to allow. 

As Christmas Eve finally arrived, his chances at a Christmas miracle had dissipated greatly, but there was still a burgeoning hope that maybe - _maybe_ \- if he asked Aziraphale for this togetherness to go beyond Christmas that it would. Fourth time could be the charm, especially on their side. Everything else seemed to have charm this time of year, so why not? 

He glanced at their ornament as he sauntered by their tree, his other plants quivering but just as luscious as ever. It was a needed outlet for him, especially when his snarl at the Christmas tree only caused minor trembling. Aziraphale's influence, obviously, but the thing had rooted properly and no needles had fallen. It was a success, in his opinion. 

He set his plant mister on his desk and dropped down onto the loveseat beside his reading angel, an arm thrown over the back and his body comfortably, sloppily angled towards him. The sun was sinking as anticipation of their plans rose. He thought the press of their knees together was communication of that, Crowley content to let Aziraphale continue on with his book. 

The angel didn't look up from the page, his reading glasses carefully perched on the edge of his nose, but he did shift ever so slightly until the curve of Crowley's arm was just behind him. "Are you finished antagonizing your plants?" he asked as he turned the page, resurfacing as the chapter came to a close. 

Taking the hint with a small smile, Crowley let his arm drape across Aziraphale's shoulders. "For now."

Aziraphale hummed in acknowledgement, his lips quirking up as the comfortable, warm weight settled around him. He placed a marker in his book and closed it, resting it on his lap as he looked at him over the top of his spectacles. He could see the fading light through the windows, dusk sweeping over London on Christmas Eve. 

His essence rippled with a pleased flutter, the faintest trace of melancholy hidden within it as he realized this beautiful season was coming to an end. "Oh, lost track of the time. Hope I haven't kept you waiting too long. Do you still want to go to the garden and see the lights?"

"Yeah." But he'd felt the ripple, the small ache tucked into the center of it, and tipped his head a little. Enough to say he knew and would listen the way he always and only listened to Aziraphale. "Alright, love?" 

"Of course. It's Christmas Eve, why wouldn't I be?" Aziraphale's smile waned a bit as Crowley continued to stare at him, all soft lines and golden eyes, waiting for him. "It's nothing, really. Just being an old silly. But I suppose I can't help but feel… Like I miss it already. All of this." He gestured to the decorations, the tree and presents, the cups of cooled cocoa, and the love inside and outside of the flat. "I know it won't be long before it's back, a year hardly any time at all for you and I, but I still can't help but miss it."

Crowley shifted a little, rarely perfectly still and less so when his mind was working. He could respond with a level of sarcasm that only the angel would find sincerity in or he could give into all the things Aziraphale had encompassed and actually give his genuine opinion. "Do you have to miss it the same way now? It's a season that's entirely too you and no one's going to keep you from every little good deed you want to do. The rest of the world may stall a bit with all this good cheer, but..." He shrugged. "And, y'know, we don't _have_ to go to Korea next year. We could do it earlier? Anytime, really, then stay here or pick a spot that actually celebrates Christmas."

Aziraphale blinked at him, the options staggering only because he hadn't expected them to be laid out like a picnic. A spread of choices offered up to him, all for him to make. He removed his spectacles and folded them, glancing away to move them and his book. He didn't know how to convey to the demon that this was the first time he'd experienced this very human feeling at this time of year. 

"It's not that, dearest, though I do appreciate it," he assured him earnestly. "I've never minded the end of the Christmas season before. Why, these past few years, I've even looked forward to the end of December. No, it's… I've rather enjoyed the plans we've made and the time we've spent together. It's… it's things like that I expect I'm anticipating missing the most and I'm not entirely used to that feeling. Not around this time of year." He wrung his hands together, gaze flicking back to Crowley. "See? Silly."

"A bit." It was more of a relief, really, letting his smile shift into a smirk. "Whatever gave you the impression that we'd stop making plans or spending time together?" 

Aziraphale sighed, reaching out to give him a pat on the knee. "Well, you have to admit, we don't exactly have a precedent for this." 

"Our usual precedent for this entire season is me not being here, angel. And you've... You've seemed alright with the differences."

"I am. It's why I don't want to lose all of- well…" Aziraphale moved his hand, taking hold of Crowley's. "This. I know things have been changing since Armageddon, but not as drastically as it has this past month."

"Well..." He made a few uncomfortable noises, trying to cling to the fact that Arizaphale's concern was losing their progress. Same concerns, then, so he could surely handle this. It was just one thing to experience and another to talk about. "Yeah? It's been- I know it's been fast, but I don't want us to go backwards."

"Oh. Oh, well, neither do I," Aziraphale replied. "I would like for things to… to continue as they are. If it's what you want, too." Suddenly noticing that he was still holding his hand, Aziraphale let it go. "Obviously."

Crowley looked down at his suddenly empty hand, but left it open and available still. "Then don't let go. I did just say I don't want to move back, angel."

"Yes, but I don't want to _assume_ anything."

He looked back up and simply took Aziraphale's hand to solve the problem. "You assumed I wanted you to let go, didn't you?" 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to argue, then snapped it shut as he weighed their reasoning against one another. "Well, that's different. I'm not invading your personal space by letting go." 

"That's not the _point_." Crowley frowned, eyes unmasked in the familiarity of his flat when they met Aziraphale's. "You're allowed. You've _been_ allowed. I- Well, I like this. It's not an invasion, angel, and that's not going to end just because the Christmas season will."

"I'm not necessarily expecting it to, that isn't what I meant." With a sigh, Aziraphale looked at their Christmas tree. He was having a difficult time adequately expressing his concern and was at a point where he didn't really want to continue this conversation. They were both getting agitated and it was Christmas Eve. "Nevermind. Forget I said anything. Let's just get ready. It will be dark soon."

"Fine," he replied, a bit sharper than intended. Clearly, he needed to stick with sarcasm, he thought, hating the pitiful feeling of searching for brakes. Too fast, of course, and too much. "Ngk."

Aziraphale frowned at him, releasing his hand so he could stand and straighten his clothes. "Fine." 

As he walked away to fetch his coat, hanging on the antique coat rack that had made a home in Crowley's flat over the past few weeks, guilt clogged his throat and creased his brow. What was he doing? They'd been having a lovely day so far, and obviously Crowley wanted him there; otherwise he wouldn't have been putting up with the decorations and the flights of fancy all month. Their relationship spanned more than six thousand years, it encompassed more than one holiday, even if it was important to them both because of each other.

Aziraphale shrugged his coat on, then pulled Crowley's off the rack and held it open as the demon slunk over. Putting on his most contrite expression, the angel tried to meet his gaze through the dark lenses that had made their way back onto the demon's face. He couldn't read his expression, but he didn't have to. He knew Crowley's sulks, granted this one _was_ justified, and he could deal with them accordingly.

"I'm sorry, that was uncalled for," he said without prompting, wordlessly offering to help him with his coat.

The apology gave him pause, his body shifting in his serpentine way. But it only took him a moment to sigh and take the offered help. "It's fine, angel."

Aziraphale gently guided Crowley's arms through the sleeves. "It isn't. You've made it clear that I'm welcome here, for reasons other than allowing me to enjoy our tree and put up some of my decorations. There is no reason for despondency relating to saying goodbye to all this after tomorrow because it isn't really goodbye at all."

"Well..." He shook his head as he turned towards him, hands dipping into his pockets to find his gloves, and aimed for flippant. "I'm just not as slow as you need me to be. Nothing new there."

Aziraphale stared at him, wide-eyed and hands at a loss for what to do with themselves. "What are you talking about? You're perfectly fine, Crowley. It's my speed I can't quite figure out, but that's nothing to do with you."

Crowley stared back. "Since when?" 

Aziraphale blinked back. "Well, I suppose since Armageddon, at least. I've been attempting to, well, perhaps go a bit faster, but I'm not sure of the right approach, necessarily."

Too stunned to monitor himself, Crowley blurted, "Any. I've been following your lead so you don't turn me down again."

"Oh." 

Aziraphale clasped his hands together in front of him, bowing his head as he glanced down, cheeks bright red and eyes positively iridescent. He'd had a feeling that was the case, but he had hoped in recent months to carefully rebuild Crowley's confidence in him brick by brick, well aware of the hole he'd bashed through when he left him in the Bentley that night in 1967. He'd hoped, but of course a few months couldn't repair the damage of decades, and the habits of centuries.

"I'm trying, Crowley. I apologize that it hasn't been faster. I don't know yet what I need my pace to be, especially after these past few weeks which have quite honestly felt like a whirlwind, but one I found quite enjoyable, and-" He realized he was prattling on as he glanced up. "It wasn't my intention to put you in this position, Crowley, but I did, and for that I am truly sorry. I wasn't ready then, I want to be now."

"Angel... You don't have to be sorry for that. It's- Our side's still new. Being out from under constant threat of surveillance, and that was always a bigger issue for you. Never knew when your lot was going to pop by." And Aziraphale was just so _him_. "Besides, you're wretched with change. Always have been. So..."

"Yes, and I won't apologize for being cautious when it came to our respective head offices or being upset over the holy water, but I didn't think it would make such an impact on you. Not like this, at any rate."

"It's fine. Really. Just- Ngk. I'll-" Crowley shrugged, keeping the threatening blush off his face. Of course it had made an impact. It had been his angel. It was _always_ his angel. "Listen, just take whatever time you need. We have forever, don't we?"

"Are you certain that's alright?" 

It was a relief to know he wasn't the problem, to know that Aziraphale wanted this just as he did. If all he had to be was patient, well, he had several millennia's worth of practice. "Yes. You're worth waiting for, angel."

Aziraphale squeezed his own hands a little tighter. "Oh," came out more like a sigh than a real verbal acknowledgement. Knowing Crowley felt that way through his actions, his near-constant presence, was one thing. It was another entirely to hear him admit it. It was nice.

Not that Crowley would want to hear that. He was a demon after all. Aziraphale's smile warmed, melting away his tension as he set about fixing his scarf and mittens, gaze flitting from the busy work of his hands to Crowley's eyes beyond the lenses.

"You're also worth following, my dear. Just thought you should know." Satisfied with his winter garb, Aziraphale held his hand out in invitation.

Of course he took it. They weren't going backwards, no matter how difficult talking about this was. "So the Kew Gardens tonight?" 

"Yes, I thought you might appreciate what they've done with their plants."

"Probably." He may have nicked one or two from them in the past, but kept that to himself. "Let's go see."

\----

He wasn't supposed to park near the Victoria Gate, but no one was going to stop Crowley from putting his Bentley where he wanted and he'd decided he'd rather be by the main entrance. They could already see the glow of lights, bright and cheerful against the darkening sky, as they climbed out of the car. Crowley crossed to Aziraphale's side, waiting for him to finish straightening himself out before taking his hand. 

There was a feeling in the air that was very close to how Hyde Park had felt, though this didn't have thrill rides and carnival games. It was softer somehow. And the crowd was smaller than it ought to be, either by miracle or good fortune. Hard to say, really. "Looks like it should be a nice night."

Aziraphale had to agree, between the ripples of love from the light crowds and the pleasant nip in the air, that the night would be rather nice. It also didn't hurt that the tension between himself and Crowley had dissipated on the drive over, replaced with their typical banter regarding the speed, turns, and complete disregard for the brakes. As much as Aziraphale had gasped and clutched at the door while snipping at him, it had filled him with a swell of relief that accompanied most of their spats over the millenia. While they certainly had their moments as adversaries and hereditary enemies and as friends, one thing they could always count on was their ability to clear the air.

"I do love how they transform the gardens." Aziraphale squeezed his hand, falling into step with him as they approached the front gates and he flashed him a grin. "It really brings a sense of _magic_ to the whole area."

"Proper magic, maybe. _Maybe_."

"Obviously proper." Aziraphale tugged on his hand to lift it, linking their arms and placing his hand atop Crowley's. "But still fun."

"Proper magic is always fun." Crowley smiled, the two of them going right past the line. They'd been too late to purchase tickets and Aziraphale had been willing to let it go "just this once."

"It isn't as if we're preventing anyone else from attending by not purchasing tickets ahead of time," he'd reasoned.

The night sky was clear, stars starting to speckle above them as dusk faded and the moon crested over the horizon. The garden pathway came to life with glittering lights in a kaleidoscope of colors. There was an element of romance in the air that had the angel pressing closer, guiding Crowley towards the first displays. 

Long vine-like tubes filled with lights cascaded down from above in an illuminated tunnel, surrounding them completely. "A little like snakes, don't you think, dearest?" Aziraphale cooed over them, moving one out of the way so he could see the demon. 

Crowley shook his head, amused. "Radiated ones, yeah."

"Or electrified, perhaps?" 

"Little too on the nose, angel."

Aziraphale tapped one of the vines so it swung and lightly booped Crowley on the nose. "Do you think?"

He laughed, pushing a few to the side as they continued on. "Yes, I do. Ridiculous."

Aziraphale giggled, delighted by his laughter and leaned into it. Lights were strung about the grass, flashing in whimsical patterns that stretched across the lawn, and there were holly bushels that sang carols and glittered. Dozens of illuminated paper boats sat atop a still pool, and handcrafted will-o'-the-wisps dotted the gardens. Trees were wrapped in long strings of colorful lights from trunk to tip. 

The soft lighting and music created an intimate environment that Crowley and Aziraphale had only recently started taking full advantage of. It might have been too much before, for both of them. Aziraphale was relieved that Crowley did know where they stood now, or at least where he stood. Ready for the next step, just trying to find the right footing.

Crowley was relieved too, really. He already knew how to be Aziraphale's support. He'd been rescuing him for millenia. And maybe this sort of support was very different, but they'd muddle through. They'd made it this far and at least Aziraphale knew he wasn't planning on disappearing. After the holiday or ever again, preferably. It had weight, as much as Aziraphale's ease in holding him close as they strolled through romantically lit gardens.

It didn't make Crowley nervous now that he knew it wasn't him being too fast or putting pressure on his angel. And it was... sweet, he supposed, to be able to enjoy it without wondering if he should be doing something more or something less. Apparently just _being_ was enough for his angel. 

"Smells like there's food stands nearby. I'm gonna have the scent of gingerbread and _mint_ on my tongue at least until July."

"Some mulled wine should clear your palate nicely, my dear." Aziraphale rubbed his arm placatingly. "I'll get you a cup."

"Wouldn't turn that down if they have some. You getting some or cocoa?"

"I'm in the mood for a bit of wine, I think," Aziraphale hummed, scanning the selection of food stalls as they approached them. "Oh… And perhaps a sausage roll, or a mince pie."

"I'll get whatever you don't of the two." And, of course, let him have both. 

"Oh really?" Aziraphale beamed gratefully at him. "Thank you, Crowley."

The urge to tell him not to thank him was there, but it was far more distant than it had once been. "Anytime, angel," he said instead, smile slight but fond. 

It was more than enough for the angel, who expected to have his gratitude brushed away like annoying specks of lint against Crowley's black coat. He picked the mince pie, sharing a bite of it with Crowley in repayment for being given most of the sausage roll. The hearty nibbles warmed his belly, the mulled wine carrying it through the rest of his corporation. He watched Crowley sip at his, both cups the perfect temperature for drinking, taking them along as they wandered down the rest of the path. It was truly the perfect way to spend Christmas Eve, humanity and nature coexisting on a night that hadn't been meant to happen according to the Divine Plan. 

A gasp of delight burst from Aziraphale as a towering arch of warm, sparkling lights formed a bright, brilliant tunnel along the path. "Oh, Crowley," he sighed, awash with the contentment and peace that filled the area. 

He was tempted to suggest that it was obnoxious enough to be seen from space, but Aziraphale was just too pleased and Crowley was feeling quite a bit of contentment and peace himself. "Lovely little spot, eh?"

"It is rather." Eyes sparkling, he tore his gaze from the lights to smile at Crowley, trying to see equally golden, glittering eyes through the dark lenses. "Very lovely."

Crowley tipped his head to the side, sighing softly. The Heavenly glow was just under the surface, turning his eyes to diamonds and threatening to spread. "Bugger," he murmured, something clicking in his mind. "You're the lights too."

Confusion rippled across his face, brow creasing as he stared at him. "What do you mean, I'm the- oh. Oh!" Like all the angels scattered throughout history's Christmas decorations. "Oh, Crowley…" A glassy sheen shone in his eyes. "You have waited so long, haven't you…"

"Oh, don't start pitying me," he complained. "That's miserable."

"It's not _pity_ ," Aziraphale huffed, shimmying a bit when he couldn't decide if he wanted to let go of Crowley's arm or not, unsure if he'd be taken seriously pressed so close still. He ended up staying put, but lifted his chin indignantly. "I'm grateful. And honestly astonished that you'd even want to. Well, perhaps want isn't the right word, but you understand my meaning."

"What, _want_ to wait? Yeah, no, not the right word."

"Yes. I'm not quite sure what compelled you to, but I suppose it's the same thing that's drawn me to you all these thousands of years." Aziraphale looked up at the lights cascading above them, a canopy of starlight bathing them in their glow. "But, my dear, Christmas didn't have lights for hundreds of years. How would you even know to make them part of your influence?" 

He shrugged. "Look, it's the same as all the angel decorations. Those didn't start straight off either, and now they're everywhere. It's just- _You_ were the whole of it, I've told you. I put everything I- I liked about you. Didn't know what would stick."

"You think I'm… illuminating?" Aziraphale dropped his gaze, blinking slowly, more quietly stunned than trying to bat his lashes at him.

Oh, that was more embarrassing than the received pity. "Radiant," he muttered lowly. "Whatever word you want to use."

"Oh…" Aziraphale flushed darkly and couldn't even mask it with the wine. "The feeling's mutual," he murmured. "Your eyes… Well, they light up any room."

"Ngk," was the best he could come up with for an immediate response. He hadn't expected a compliment and definitely not one on the single most obvious sign of his demonhood. "Dunno what to do when you say things like that, love."

"Well, neither do I, to be honest. But I do feel like you deserve to hear it from someone. From _me_." Aziraphale clenched his fist a few times, then lifted his hand to brush his fingertips over the serpent inked into the demon's skin. "After all, in your own way you've been saying things like that for years."

The touch was so unexpected. It crackled through him and his eyes were wide and stunned behind the dark lenses. "I... Ah... Y'know..."

"Tell me if I'm too fast, darling," Aziraphale requested softly, following the line of the snake's tail with his thumb. "I know you said any speed was fine, but…"

Crowley gave the smallest of head shakes to avoid discouraging him. "S'fine. Just... a surprise. You get used to waiting after six thousand years."

Aziraphale nodded, letting his touch linger a moment longer, memorizing the slight scrape of Crowley's skin along his cheek and jawline. "No more waiting."

Crowley's mouth went dry. "Wot."

Aziraphale blinked quickly, the flush coming back full force as he carefully withdrew his hand. "On our side… I should think we ought to not have any waiting."

And yet there they were, him still too wary to press forward and Aziraphale... Well, Crowley was right back to not being sure what to do. If this was not knowing his footing, he'd end up discorporated for sure. He cleared his throat. "Right. Well. We should, ah, probably keep going."

"Ah. Yes, rather. Good idea." Aziraphale's gaze drifted down to Crowley's lips, wine strained and pursed in that familiar, not-quite-a-frown way. "There's still a bit more, I think. But we're almost done."

"Alright." Hopefully he'd have enough time to settle his system before they were through, not at all sure what to do with Aziraphale looking at or touching him as he was. He knew what he _wanted_ to do, but wasn't about to try. Definitely not out and about where they could be jostled by humans. 

Aziraphale used both hands to cup his wine, giving Crowley a moment to collect himself as he sipped. As he became less flustered himself, he looked on with fond amusement. When it didn't look like the demon was about to keel over, Aziraphale took his hand so they could finish walking through the lighted tunnel together. 

"Don't fret, my darling. It's Christmas."

"What's the excuse going to be in two days?" 

"Well, then you can fret all you like. I won't stop you."

Crowley chuckled, squeezing his hand. "Bastard."

It had cheered him up though, which was all Aziraphale had been aiming to accomplish. "Just a bit, maybe," he hummed. 

"Definitely a bit. Just enough of one, really, but I like you that way." As they exited the sparkling tunnel, he caught sight of completely different decorations. Because there wasn't anything worse than the mild concern fire always seemed to be greeted with, Crowley laughed. "Flames in a garden. Maybe the Kew _is_ trying to terrorize their plants."

"Oh, good Lord." 

As pretty as it looked, it also looked like something one would find if an ex-Satanist was trying to celebrate Christmas. Burning stars were on the ground, shapes formed from candles, and the same candles were set up on wire Christmas trees, each bough aflame. Aziraphale sighed and glanced sidelong at Crowley. 

He simply grinned, miracling the empty cup away and reaching into his pocket for his phone. "I'm taking a picture of one of these trees. It should come in handy for ours next year."

"Our tree has been perfectly well-behaved without such threats. I'm sure the next one will be just as good," he huffed, vanishing his cup, too. 

Of course there had been such threats, just no visual to go along with them beyond pointed looks at the fireplace. Crowley snapped the picture. "Some insurance never hurt anyone."

Aziraphale shook his head, but his smile came unbidden regardless. "Foul fiend," he mumbled fondly, watching the dark firelight dance over his pretty cheekbones. "Of course this is the display you find the most enjoyment in."

"Well, maybe some wicked delight." He looked at Aziraphale, slipping his phone away again. "I've liked it all, though."

"Have you?" 

"Yeah. More intimate than Hyde Park was, just as pretty. Been with you around a bunch of plants. There's nothing to actually dislike."

"Ah…" A flare of pleasure was rekindled by the sincerity. "I agree wholeheartedly, my dear. It's a bit more subdued, yes, but beautiful in its tranquility. Oh, I did hope that you would like it."

Of course he had. Aziraphale had spent the whole month making sure he'd enjoy things before they'd settled on plans. Crowley let his arm wind around the angel's waist to tuck him close. "It makes me wonder what they'll do with it next time, which is probably the whole point."

"I find most of these holiday experiences do try to blend the new and exciting with tradition to keep people entranced. Isn't it remarkable how humans are always longing to change and adapt while keeping their history in mind, clinging to the past even as they move forward? It never fails, no matter the time period." Aziraphale settled against Crowley, letting his arm stay as part of that very newness for himself.

"Personally, I think that's part of our influence. Back in the early days, y'know? You and your traditions and me just doing what seemed interesting. They've sort of blended."

"Indeed, they have." Aziraphale glanced over at him. "It's nice. A good balance."

"I think so." Crowley glanced back, lips quirking. "Little like my flat."

"Yes, a bit." Aziraphale maybe didn't mind the flickering flames of this display so much if they highlighted the soft curve of Crowley's mouth and danced against dark lenses. But there was still more to see. A show at the Palm Building, supposedly.

On their way, they strolled through a pathway with brightly lit sprigs of mistletoe lining it. Couples were tugging each other off the path to stand beneath them, each pair sharing a kiss and sometimes a selfie. Aziraphale couldn't help smiling at the sweet display of pure love and joy.

It was just a little startling for Crowley. Of all the things to still have from Saturnalia... He forced his voice to stay even. "What is that, mistletoe?" 

"Yes." Aziraphale beamed at him, his blush coloring his cheeks as he thought of every tradition that had his demon's hand in it. "Another one of your influences, my dear?" 

"Ah..." Crowley shrugged, glancing at the angel and back. It was obvious what the tradition was, but _was_ it one of his influences? It had started as his, absolutely. But keeping it... Well, that very well could've been his doing, however unintentional, and that was utterly mortifying. "I- _Well_. Ngk."

Aziraphale slipped his arm around his waist, letting him off the hook with a happy hum. "Well, it's a charming tradition, at any rate. Come along, we're almost through."

"Charming. Right." Crowley blinked, letting himself be led away. Having Aziraphale hold onto him like this was new. Not unwelcome, but it made him hot under the collar and everywhere else for that matter. He could control the blush but not the way warmth radiated from him. He also didn't know what to do with his hands, so they quickly found a home in his coat pockets. "Thought it'd be longer somehow."

"It's perfect for an evening stroll, I think. Especially on Christmas Eve. Then the rest of the night is ours."

"Yeah. They don't even use half the gardens for all this. Bet they will within the decade."

"Well, they will with that kind of attitude. Your influence will be at work soon enough," Aziraphale teased fondly. 

The Palm Building had a large water feature in front of it, and it was used for a sort of water and light show, accompanied by an assortment of holiday music. Aziraphale and Crowley stood by to watch it, their view miraculously clear for the projections on the mist. 

"Dunno if I could do anything to it at this point. Humans have done their thing."

"I don't know about that. Your demonic wiles know no bounds."

"They do when they need to. I don't know that there's anything that _needs_ changing. You seem happy with it."

"I am. I've enjoyed it for the past seven years, as soon as it started." Aziraphale hushed him a little when people started to eye them for talking during the show. 

Crowley just lowered his voice, leaning in closer. "Meant the holiday as a whole, love."

Aziraphale suppressed the very human urge to shiver, but he did allow his breath to catch as the low timbre tickled his ear. "Well," he cleared his throat, eyebrows lifting as he glanced his way. "I've enjoyed the holiday as a whole for quite some time, too, yes."

"Good. I did hope you'd like it all, y'know." His hand found Aziraphale's, holding onto it feeling like a version of normal. "Whatever stuck."

"Oh, Crowley." Aziraphale cradled his hand between both of his, squeezing it to reassure him. "I do. I love it."

"I know, angel. I've seen it all over you this whole month."

"And I hope that my gratitude has been adequately conveyed as well." Aziraphale squeezed his hand, keeping it clasped over his heart. "I'm very glad we spent this time together."

"Aziraphale..." Crowley looked at their hands, smile softening on a small sigh. "So am I. I like our side."

"So do I."

Turning his attention back to the light show, they watched it until the end and the last of the mist settled against the water's surface. The crowd murmured their appreciation, ferrying all the good feelings to the angel who welcomed them with a happy wiggle. He patted Crowley's hand, beaming at him before heading back to the Victoria gate to find the Bentley and return to their lovely tree and the cozy warmth of Crowley's flat.

"Happy Christmas, Crowley." He couldn't resist saying it, grinning at the demon from the passenger seat once they settled in.

"You've just been waiting the whole month to say that, haven't you?" He pulled out of what was technically not a spot, being mindful of pedestrians only because there were so many crammed together. 

Aziraphale wiggled with glee. "Possibly."

Crowley shook his head, but gave it back. "Happy Christmas, Aziraphale."

In that moment, there might have only been one other set of three words that could have possibly meant more. It might have been silly - no, it _definitely_ was silly - but in all the tidings of good will and joy and peace on earth that he'd received over the years, none had ever been so personal. They'd never come from someone who knew him, knew all the silly, fussy little things about him and put up with him for six thousand years. He spent every Christmas finding reasons not to be alone, and this time he didn't even have to try. Crowley wanted him there, in spite of everything. Maybe even because of everything. He'd made this day for him after all, the whole season. It might have started because of the Almighty and Heaven's desire to eradicate pagan holidays, but Crowley, as usual, had made it his own and spent the entire time ignoring it.

Aziraphale rested his hand against Crowley's thigh on the drive home, and wondered if there was any part of his demon that could feel love the way angels did. If he could sense how it swelled inside Aziraphale, full to bursting with it. He never failed to note his radiance, angelic grace spilling out uncontrollably, but that wasn’t the same thing.

Apparently, the spilling out wasn’t quite contained to the heavenly glow, though. As they entered the flat and removed their coats, Aziraphale noticed the faint trace of his own miracle. He glanced up in the doorway leading to Crowley’s office. A sprig of fresh mistletoe dangled from the top. Aziraphale’s brows lifted in quiet consideration, gaze flicking to see if Crowley had noticed.

He'd felt the miracle spill out, but had nearly missed what it was. Nearly. The bright little plant looked very out of place against the dark color of his walls. It still made his heart lurch and race, though he forced it to settle as he folded his sunglasses and dropped them into his coat pocket. 

"Thinking about it... Y'know, it probably is my influence." Absolutely, pitifully his influence. "Every other thing goes back to you, after all."

"So it would seem." Aziraphale fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves, each step slow and careful until he stopped beneath the white berries. "It is seen as a blessing of sorts. According to legend."

Crowley didn't know what else to do with his hands, so hooked his thumbs in his pockets as he took a step closer. Then another and another until he was nearly in the doorway with his angel. "Is it?" 

"Yes. Norse mythology, I believe, came up with the kissing." Aziraphale swayed from side to side as his gaze roved over him, clasping his hands behind his back when he settled on his eyes. "Not to mention, I seem to recall you having something to do with it being a symbol of fertility, didn’t you?"

"Oh, no, I hate that you remember that." It had been _funny_ to pair a parasitic, poisonous plant with kissing and babies. Being very, very close to standing beneath it with Aziraphale was not funny. "I've been really trying to ignore it."

"Why? It's your typical brand of demonic mischief." The corners of his lips quirked up, fondly amused. "You normally like to relive your devilish exploits."

"Well, I'm not normally about to kiss you. It's distracting."

"Is it?" 

"You're ridiculous," he complained, but it got him to step forward and cup Aziraphale's hips. It seemed like a better place for his hands. 

And it was, if the way Aziraphale laid his hands over Crowley's to keep them there was anything to go by. As if Crowley's skin was made of the same fragility as the pages of his centuries old books, Aziraphale's fingertips skimmed over the back of his hands in the softest of caresses, sliding up his arms and tracing invisible lines towards the center of his chest. His neckline plunged deep, as was his style, and Aziraphale just barely skimmed his collarbone as he traced the edge of it.

"I'm afraid it's only fair. You're quite distracting too, it seems."

His mouth went dry as it had at the gardens, but he didn't feel the need to escape as he had there. Crowley’s arms found their way more securely around him instead, drawing him that much closer. "That's fine. As long as your attention's on me in some way, I can't really complain."

"Good." Aziraphale curled his fingers in his shirt, tugging him down as he angled his head up, gaze drifting to his lips. "I'd rather you do something other than complain anyway. One specific thing, rather."

He'd gathered that from the miracled mistletoe, but didn't tease him for it. Not then. He could tease him later - _would_. Even with all the changes, all the forward momentum the season had inspired, there were consistencies between them. They spoke a six thousand year old language no one else understood, though no dictionary was ever fully complete. 

Crowley slipped a hand up, cupped his cheek. The curve of it against his palm was a new word, the way it warmed a little but didn't quite redden another. The way breaths they didn't need mingled, anticipation rising and distracting from the control they normally exerted over their corporations.

Crowley didn't quite know when he'd started smiling, but it was bright in golden eyes. Bright and warm and filled with what had been right in the middle of his creation of Christmas. This holiday that was such an achingly beautiful reflection of all the goodness in his angel, all the things that made it a whole season rather than a single day. He'd never experienced December with Aziraphale, but he'd certainly experienced the peace, love, and goodwill associated with it each time he'd entered an old bookshop in search of him. 

He finally let their lips touch, again and again, each light brush a tender new word that didn't quite satisfy the ache several millenias of waiting, of behaving, of never quite overstepping his bounds because to tempt an angel... And yet it was the angel who'd tempted him from the very first moment.

"Aziraphale," he whispered, lips still only just touching the quivering angel's, "my love."

And the next kiss was a real one, word after word filling fresh pages, as lips firmed and hearts opened. Music started somewhere in the flat, an unintentional soundtrack to their side and not having to wait, but Crowley's attention was firmly on one angel and nothing else mattered. It had been so long that nothing else could. 

A flood of warmth and light spread through the flat, centering where they stood together. The fire in their hearth flared and the plants throughout the flat became so much more verdant, blooms appearing when it wasn’t the season for them. A pair of white wings fluttered into their plane, folding around them both in an embrace of soft, downy feathers. Aziraphale’s hands slid up, one cupping the nape of Crowley’s neck to keep him close, nails gently raking through the soft strands of red hair as the kiss lasted for longer than humans could conceive. Their needs extending beyond their physical corporations.

"Crowley," he sighed his name against his lips, sealing the kiss in a mirror of the way his demon had started it.

A hand skimmed up Aziraphale’s back, unable to resist the urge to gently touch the pure white wings. He’d never gotten a chance to before or even risked trying. With the bright new taste of his angel still warming his tongue, he didn’t see a reason not to. "Wasn’t expecting these."

"Neither was I." Aziraphale’s nose brushed Crowley’s, lips just shy of touching as he thought about succumbing to another sample. His eyes stayed closed as a shiver traveled through his essence, his feathers trembling under his fingertips. "Afraid I couldn’t quite contain myself."

"It wasn’t a complaint, angel. I’m pretty fond of your wings." Succumbing to a second was just fine with him, though he kept it sweeter and lighter. "And your mouth. Turns out I’m fond of that too."

Aziraphale hummed his agreement against his mouth before they slowly parted. "I’m glad you find it… satisfactory," he replied a little huskily, lashes fluttering as he allowed himself to look at Crowley.

"S’a word for it," he murmured, memorizing the way his eyes looked post-kiss. Kisses. Well. He smiled, still stroking his feathers while he had the chance. "Alright, love?"

That smile was infectious. Aziraphale caught it so he could share his own with Crowley, dazzled by his golden eyes as they followed the curve of his lips. "Absolutely tickety-boo." His wings fluttered, encircling him tighter so he knew just how much he was wanted, and how much he belonged in the protection of an angel. "Never better, dearest."

It was a very nice place to be, quite literally wrapped up in his angel. For all their softness, his wings were firm and held a quiet strength. They were exactly right for Aziraphale and took him right back to that first startling boom of thunder. He’d known immediately that everything would be alright just so long as this particular angel was on this particular planet and had done everything in his power over the millenia to ensure that he stayed. Desire to run away pre-Armageddon’t notwithstanding. The _don’t_ had still been very much an impossibility. If it came around again, he’d know better.

He nuzzled their brows together, arms slipping around his waist again just to hold on. He could now and never wanted to let him go again. It was a perfect Christmas present. "Me either, angel." His lips found some of their familiar teasing quirk, more willing to be happy than heavy with their first Christmas together as close as it was. "Think I know what might make it just a bit better, though."

Aziraphale continued to card his fingers through Crowley’s hair, marveling at the softness despite the style. "What’s that, dearest?" he asked, charmed by the demon’s quiet amusement.

He very carefully didn’t grin like he wanted to, but the mischief was there. It was never far. "Your mulled wine."

Aziraphale tsked, his wings fluttering before he miracled them away. "Wily old serpent," he chided, but couldn’t quite shake the fondness in his tone, nor his own desire for some now that the idea was put into his head. "I suppose I could make us a pot."

"Good. It seems like the thing to have on Christmas Eve, sitting by our ridiculous tree."

Which was just what he wanted to do the whole night, Aziraphale right by his side. The music one or both of them had started during their first kiss continued to play long after a record ought to have stopped, though there was a giddiness in just letting it play. Especially when they made a guessing game of it, wrong ones resulting in deep drinks of mulled wine or shots of single malt scotch and right ones earning kisses that turned sloppy and giggly because, well, the two of them knew a _lot_ of music and Aziraphale had made Crowley swear not to cheat.

He kept to that promise until they were thoroughly drunk, then Aziraphale had needed to slur out a protest. "No, that- s’doesn’t count."

"Why not?"

"You mira- murcal- snapped."

"No-uh-didn’t," Crowley denied.

"S’watched you."

"Nah."

"Nah," Aziraphale drunkenly echoed, then kissed him anyway.

They’d sobered up a while later, cuddling messes on the couch. Both the pleasant and embarrassing thing about being an angel and a demon meant remembering their drunken conversations, but the scattered compliments they’d traded back and forth didn’t feel so embarrassing. It helped Crowley stay sprawled across the loveseat, head settled comfortably in Aziraphale’s lap because the angel had admitted to finding his hair soft. The style was long-since lost to the fingers stroking through strands, but Crowley didn’t mind so long as Aziraphale was happy to continue what amounted to pets.

Their conversation continued to weave through a variety of topics, each of them opinionated and learned and _happy_. That was the thing of it, that Christmas Eve. They were together and they were purely, simply, happy. They’d had flashes of the feeling together over the millenia, but had never truly been safe to indulge in it. There were always worries, in the back of each mind, regarding the consequences if they were caught. There were no consequences beneath the lovely Christmas lights and before the jointly decorated Christmas tree.

Aziraphale had wiggled giddily when he’d realized their stockings had indeed filled themselves with chocolate and oranges, just as planned, and they’d sat next to the tartan tree skirt like human children to dump them out onto the floor and to pull two Christmas crackers. Aziraphale won them both, smile very fond at the swirl of the demonic miracles behind each win. And he still gave Crowley one of the paper crowns that had been inside, bestowing it upon him with enough pomp and circumstance to make the demon groan and roll his eyes in an annoyance that didn’t actually dampen either of their spirits.

Sunrise managed to take them both by surprise. Time didn’t have much meaning when one had an eternity of it, but it was the dawn of Crowley’s first Christmas morning, their first Christmas morning together, and their first morning as something more. Whether they’d ever label it was yet to be seen, but it hardly mattered. They had forever, and Christmas was more their focus at the moment.

There was no reason to look at the tag on his gift when Aziraphale handed it to him, but Crowley did anyway. The swooping swirl of his name had him shaking his head, vague memories of peeking in on Aziraphale very cheerfully transcribing books in a time where it could only be done by hand forming in his mind. Nothing concrete because little in six thousand years could be monumental enough to keep a permanent place in his memory, but the impressions of remembrance pleased him. 

"Is it somehow against Christmas to guess what’s wrapped before opening a gift? Because I have a good guess."

"I believe it's customary for _children_ to shake their presents to guess what's inside." Aziraphale beamed at him, gaze flitting between the gift and Crowley's fond, golden eyes. "Oh, just open it already if you know what it is!"

It was a rectangle and Aziraphale's love of stories was older than the written word. There could really only be one thing. "Starts with a B," he teased, tearing the red and gold wrapping paper. But then, after opening the box his gift lay in beneath the paper, surprise _did_ flit over his features. He'd guessed a book, but he never would've guessed _this_ book and definitely not a first edition. He very gingerly opened the cover just to check and, yes, definitely a first edition. Aziraphale _never_ gave those away. But this 1930 edition of _The Maltese Falcon_ had his name on it. "You- Hang on. I didn't even know this came as a book. You can't just..." Maybe it was a mistake. "You realize this is one of your first editions?"

"Is it?" Aziraphale tried for his own brand of sarcasm, but anticipation shone in his eyes as he searched Crowley’s expression for a hint of how he felt about it. "Of course I realize it’s a first edition. I couldn’t possibly give you anything less than that," he reasoned, then pointed in the general direction of his desk. "You have the statue, so I thought… well, I thought you might enjoy the book, too. Even if you don’t read," he gave him a pointed look at that, "I thought it’d be, well, a nice souvenir maybe. Though I do think you’d enjoy the story if you gave it a chance."

"Well..." Clueless and sweet, his angel. "I may not read books, exactly, but this started in a magazine."

Aziraphale blinked. "Why… yes it did. How do you know that?" It took an extra few seconds than it should’ve for it to click and he gasped. "Is that why you have the Maltese Falcon? Because you read it in a periodical?"

"Well, the statue's from the movie." Crowley looked down, tracing the title with a fingertip. "Which, alright, I saw because I read the magazine. Came out twice a month, so it's less a commitment than a book."

"I see." Aziraphale watched him curiously, privately pleased that he’d somehow picked one of the few things the demon had happened to read in all six thousand years on Earth. "Then you enjoyed the story?"

He looked back up, pushing the embarrassment away so he could actually tell him the truth. "Yes, angel, I liked it. If I'd known it came as a book, I might've already had it. So... thanks, love."

"Oh, _wonderful_. You’re very welcome, my dear." With Crowley’s gift given and accepted, Aziraphale could now focus on the pretty little present for him. "Should I guess, too?" he teased gently, admiring the wrapping and the ‘Angel’ on the tag.

Crowley shook his head, embarrassment creeping right back up. "You'd never manage it."

"I honestly have no idea." Aziraphale’s smile only softened while he gingerly peeled back the corners of the paper. It didn’t matter what was under the shiny, perfectly creased wrapping, Aziraphale had thought. He was just happy to have been in the demon’s thoughts and that time had been taken for this.

Then he realized it was a jewelry box. Aziraphale’s lips parted in surprise, his eyes wide as he glanced up at Crowley, then back down at the box. Very carefully, he popped open the top and his corporation inhaled a staggering breath. A pair of cufflinks, golden hearts and angel wings, rested on a velvet cushion.

"Oh," he said without realizing it, unable to hear his own voice as all of his focus was dedicated to the delicate trinkets.

They didn’t get each other gifts, not like this. They went out, took each other to shows and concerts, they went places together, and sometimes they’d bring each other things if something had made them think of the other. They miracled things - Crowley miracled him things.

He hadn’t miracled these, not out of the firmament. Even if he could feel the slightest trace of Crowley’s energy against them, they’d been carefully handcrafted by a human and picked out especially for him by a demon. Crowley had seen them somewhere, out and about, and thought of him and thought they’d make a nice Christmas present.

Aziraphale had always felt like Christmas was his present from Crowley. He never expected anything more than that, never really needed anything. The holiday had been enough, more than enough, for nearly two thousand years until now, when he knew what it was like to have Crowley’s company through it all and discovered that was all the gift he needed. Nothing could compare to this time spent together freely, and yet this was still a part of all that, wasn’t it? Gift-giving to remind loved ones they were always in your thoughts, in the spirit of the three kings bearing gifts for the Lord and even in the spirit of Saturnalia before that. Gifts to celebrate the return of light once the solstice passed.

Their darkest time had passed for them, too, his and Crowley’s. The promise of freedom and hope on their side stretched out before them, the dawn of their new day still on the horizon. It was hardly an ending, this Christmas season. Aziraphale really had been so silly to miss it. It was still the beginning of the rest of their time here on Earth, free to spend it however they wished. Free to be out together, free to give each other tokens without an excuse, and most importantly, free to love.

As an angel and a demon inhabiting physical corporations, they didn’t typically experience the need to cry. Still, Aziraphale’s eyes were damp as he cradled the cufflinks close, vision refusing to blur despite the tears so he wouldn’t have to stop seeing the golden hearts. He sniffled to try and compose himself, a wet chuckle escaping at how ridiculous he was being as he miracled a handkerchief to dab at his eyes.

"So sorry, my dear. Got a bit carried away." Though his eyes were still bright with tears, his smile was nothing but joyous as he looked at his demon, coiled tight with tension that he couldn’t decide if it was alright to lose. "I _love_ them. They’re perfect."

"Right. Yeah. Good." The silence had dragged on too long, Crowley ready to leap to his own defense and backpedal the Hell out of the whole situation somehow. Excuses and reasons had tumbled end over end just to freeze at the first sight of tears. _That_ wasn't at all acceptable, though he couldn't feel a single negative thing from him. Not a single thing, which was as humiliating as it was wonderful. "I know you like buying your own clothes and things and hold onto them forever, but I saw them. I just-" He waved a hand, cutting himself off. He'd seen them as he'd seen Aziraphale and that was that. 

The angel finished dabbing at his eyes, then sent the handkerchief away, clean again and tucked away somewhere. He set the box down only so he could fiddle with the cufflinks he currently wore, eager to get them off for the first time in the couple hundred years he’d had them. He sent those back to his bookshop as well, not wanting to deal with having to think of them when he had more pressing matters to tend to.

Aziraphale held the box out to Crowley. "Would you help me with them? I’d like to wear them now."

Of course he took the box, scooted closer to him. He'd hoped for just this, hadn't he? "Really?" 

"No, I’m asking you as part of some sort of joke, though I don’t even know what the punchline would be," Aziraphale tutted, but his exasperation was all fondness as he offered Crowley his wrist. "Yes, Crowley. It’s Christmas, and I want to wear your gift."

"Prat," he insulted fondly, taking one of the cufflinks and carefully pressing it through the buttonhole at Aziraphale’s wrist. It had been a long time since he'd worn cufflinks himself, but they'd been in fashion for so long (and he'd worn increasingly ridiculous ones just to annoy his angel) that it was simple muscle memory. Once it was clasped, he didn't let go right away, admiring the shining gold against the pale blue of his button-up. "Just planning on wearing them today?" 

"Not at all." Aziraphale felt a surge of love spiral through him - his own love, all for the being in front of him - and couldn’t look away from the darling cufflinks. "I think I rather like wearing your heart on my sleeve."

"Oh, no, don't make it humiliating," Crowley complained, handling the second cufflink with just as much deft care as the first. Though this time when he didn't immediately let go, it was to press a kiss to Aziraphale's palm and watch his eyes glitter. "There. You're all set, love."

"Oh, Crowley…"

Aziraphale slid closer, a bit undignified there on the floor, but he had to cup Crowley’s cheeks between his palms, cradling his face as their lips pressed together. This was something he could get used to, kissing him in lieu of saying ‘thank you,’ kissing him for any reason really. It was so very human, but they’d always been drawn to humanity’s quirks and experiences. Kissing was no exception.

He broke away to brush his lips against the tip of Crowley’s nose, overcome with how precious he found him, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. "This truly has been one of the most wonderful Christmases," he sighed happily. "I really can only think of one thing that would make it perfect."

His hands were soft and warm and so very welcome. Contentment so rarely came across for Crowley, but he definitely felt it then. "What?" 

"A proper Christmas morning feast, of course." Aziraphale grinned at him, then gave him another quick peck just because he could. "I picked up a few things just for the occasion, I’m sure we could whip something up."

Crowley laughed. Of course it would be breakfast. "Not without a dozen miracles at least."

"I’m sure we can manage." Aziraphale leaned back, admiring his new cufflinks before rising to his feet. "Between the two of us, I expect we’ll have a lovely breakfast." He held his hand out, offering it to Crowley to help him up.

He gathered up his new book before taking it, giving Aziraphale's hand a squeeze once he was on his feet. "Probably."

"‘Probably?’"

"Probably," he repeated, grinning as he set his book safely and neatly on the center of his desk. "I'm not making any guarantees on my end."

"Of course you’re not, wily old serpent." Aziraphale rolled his eyes, not-so-discreetly watching the placement of the book and enjoying the warmth that spread through him as it found a home on his desk.

"Well, when d'you think I've ever bothered to cook anything before? It's someone else's job." The light bickering was as comfortable as the way he took Aziraphale's hand so they could walk to his kitchen together. "Especially since I've got no idea what you have in mind."

"Don’t you fret, darling. Just follow my lead, I’ll show you exactly what to do." Aziraphale gave his hand a pat. "And perhaps afterwards, we could relax on your loveseat and read a bit of your book together. What do you think?"

Crowley smiled at him. He thought all of this - the lights and carnivals and decorations - were all worth the loss of Saturnalia. He'd thought a week of reckless partying had been fun, but Christmas was too. It was entirely different in so many ways and such a brilliant reflection of the angel he really... Well, loved. It was everywhere but out loud, but he knew his angel understood. He'd known the night before, wrapping Crowley in his divine glow and downy wings, and he'd known the whole night trading stories and laughter. 

He knew his angel understood now, too, when it took him too long to answer because his eyes started to glitter like diamonds. He understood that he had Crowley's heart on more than just his sleeve. And thank Somebody he did because those words were still a ways away from being able to come out. Good thing they had forever.

"Sounds like a perfect way to spend Christmas day, angel."

Aziraphale squeezed his hand. "I couldn’t agree more, my dear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas <3  
> May you have even half as good a holiday as these two something birds, whether you're with family, friends, or something more!  
> 


End file.
